


Lights Go Down

by masterassassin, none_the_wiser



Series: Trip Switch [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Apocalypse, Bones is Grumpy, Bullshit Science, Lots of it, M/M, Slow Burn, Zombies?, alternative universe, bones isn’t paid enough to deal with this shit, oh so slow, probably unhealthy amounts of drinking but hey it's the apocalypse, surviving in a post-apocalyptic world, zombies!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-12-27 12:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21118814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterassassin/pseuds/masterassassin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/none_the_wiser/pseuds/none_the_wiser
Summary: It’s been three years already, if he remembers it right, and about that he’s not particularly sure, some think it happened ten years ago, some say half a year. Time exists only if you keep counting. Nobody really cares anymore.





	1. Perfect place to start

**Author's Note:**

> This story is brought to you by us, sleep-deprived coffee addicts, and it answers to such important questions as: why does no one ever think to ride a bike in zombie apocalypse stories? Why does no one ever need to pee? What’s with the food that never expires? 
> 
> But since it’s fiction, there’s still a lot of bullshit and no real science in it, forgive us for not sticking with realism wholeheartedly.

_...because a heart that hurts is a heart that works..._

There’s something wrong with the place, Jim can feel it in his aching bones. They said to keep away from stores and buildings in general, but they also said they’d never leave him and that was a big fucking lie. There are still lights on in this place, chances to find something in a place with the lights still on tend to get smaller and smaller as time goes on. But he’s so damn hungry.

“Hey buddy!” Jim greets the cashier at the checkout, giving him a nod and a wide smile that’s all teeth. He’s perfectly aware he won’t get a response, he just wants to be nice and show some respect. Judging by the way the mostly skeletal body, still clad in store employee clothes, is slumped over the counter the dude has been dead for quite some time, and not the living dead kind. He's a lucky duck considering his quick and easy death.

Jim sighs and heads towards the canned food aisle, only stopping to grab some wet wipes hoping they haven’t dried out yet. He’s about to leave the town and who knows when he’ll have a chance to take a proper shower. This place was a lucky find, there are still functioning networks in some buildings in the west part of the town, not everything has been ruined like in some other places. He spent a good week here, enjoying all the conveniences of civilian life - air conditioning, coffee machines, showers, flushing toilets even. He could stay here forever, if there wasn’t a big-ass but. Two big-ass buts, actually.

First of all, he’d like to eat something besides air, thank you very much. And secondly - he’d sell all that’s left of his soul for a solid eight hours of sleep. Six hours. Four. On the floor. He doesn’t really care anymore. He’s all alone at this place, as far as he knows, you can never be sure of anything, but he’s combed through the town thoroughly, it seems to have been abandoned for years. They’re all gone. And yet he couldn’t sleep. Life gets too complicated when you don’t have company.

Yesterday he locked himself in a walk-in closet in one of the suburban mansions that still looked pretty undamaged to finally get some sleep. But he didn’t feel sheltered there, more like claustrophobic, so he woke up every thirty minutes covered in cold sweat. Better than nothing, some might say. “Fuck off,” he would reply. He’s tired of nightmares. He has never felt this weak in his life, so annoyed and disgusted with himself as well. Funny enough, he’s fully equipped with really good meds and he could set up a real nice trip to the land of dreams for himself but he’s too scared to do it alone, unattended. Sure, he wants to eat, but he doesn’t want to be eaten.

Nevertheless he’s still alive. It’s good news. Bad news - the grocery store is completely wrecked and desolate. It’s no surprise. Searching for food is a challenging task. These days actual diamonds are more easily found than anything edible. Everything that could be eaten had been taken a long time ago. That’s why the pitiful remnants of the survivors left the cities. There are other reasons as well, of course.

It’s been three years already, if he remembers it right, and about that he’s not particularly sure, some think it happened ten years ago, some say half a year. Time exists only if you keep counting. Nobody really cares anymore.

He tries his best not to make too much noise, just in case - a habit he’s adopted in the past months. If you’re alone be fucking quiet. It’s a quote. From Sulu. He almost hears his friend’s voice lecturing him about rules of conduct in dangerous places.

They had so many rules. Some really made sense, some were ridiculous. Don’t go exploring new places alone. Don’t go hunting alone. Don’t sleep when you’re alone. Don’t do shit when you’re alone. Don’t shit when you’re alone. If you see something - tell Spock. If you thought you saw something - tell Spock. Fuck Spock, really. If you want to fuck Spock - tell Spock.

They had known each other since middle school.

Maybe it’s just the crashing bore and sentimental yearning that comes with the entire ‘living in a small town’ thing. ‘Being young’ thing. ‘Laying in the grass after school, puffing smoke to the bluest of skies, dreaming big’ thing. Maybe they really did have something special. They were like brothers. The group of nerds - Jim, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty and Spock, they all dreamt of working for SpaceX one day. They didn’t know how, they didn’t even care, but they knew for a fact the day would come. They’d leave their town and sail space; beyond the blue, beyond the black, and even further, because who else would. They were smart, and brave, and let’s be honest, bored to death.

It seemed like forever ago now.

When it all started they’d lost each other in that awful, terrible movie mayhem, and those were the most dreadful weeks of Jim’s life. Their town, that never ever had been a nice place, got destroyed. They’d lost each other, they’d lost everyone they loved and everyone they had barely known, in a matter of seconds. Eventually they found each other and left, never looking back.

Now there was Spock and his God Complex. Nothing has changed since high school. He claimed he just wanted them to be safe. He thought they’d made it to the West alive and with all their limbs intact only because of his never-ending list of rules and his amazing self as their leader. If Jim was to be completely honest, it was seventy percent true. They were invincible together.

So how did Jim end up here all alone in the middle of nowhere with no one to cover his ass, let alone follow the rules, no fucking food, with a tiny gun he stole from Scotty as his only weapon? They didn’t trust him with a weapon anymore after what happened a few weeks ago. 

Jim sighs and continues wandering the aisles, looking around carefully. Broken shelves, shattered glass, empty boxes is all he can see. He carefully observes all the fridges to find nothing, not even a pack of fucking frozen peas, and he bangs his head against the glass door of a fridge as gentle and quiet as possible, of course. He stands still when he hears a cracking sound.

Sounds are bad.

Well again, not in general. Usually he loves sounds, loves music, the rustling of trees in the wind and the sound of someone’s laughter. Sounds mean he’s not alone, and not being alone is good. Unless you’re not alone in a place where you’re supposed to be alone. That’s why you have to be quiet. So you can hear them coming. And they can’t hear you. The world is a silent place now.

Jim turns around slowly and sees one of _ those _ casually walking through the aisle, pushing a shopping cart.

They don’t know much about the Infected, always on the run they didn’t have much time to examine them. Some call them ‘The Dead’ for lack of a better word because it’s easier to pretend that the people they used to be are gone, and now they’re just walking bodies, a shell of their past selves, and only the rage and hunger keeps them from complete decay. It’s beautiful, poetic even, how the reference dehumanizes them, deprives them of individuality and… life. Well the virus made them dead, not the language.

They’re not objectively dead though. They walk. They definitely eat. They maybe even breathe. Some people think there’s something left inside and that they’re able to remember who they were before they got infected. Well, Jim thinks that those people are delusional.

This particular Dead apparently used to be a nice suburban housewife. Residual instinct it is. Otherwise, how could you explain a half decayed body in torn clothes casually walking through supermarket aisles, pushing an empty shopping cart? There’s even still a strand of pearls around her neck. It looks almost routinely, except that it’s not. How can someone insist they’re living beings? She’s dead, she’s just not aware of it. Then she looks at Jim with those scary pale, dead eyes. Eye. She only has one eye. God, she looks bad.

The Infected moves very slowly and at first Jim assumes she’s weak and starving, but that’s just an optimistic scenario. He’s a glass half full kinda guy. But then she makes a sudden jerk towards him and he realizes he was wrong. The shopping cart crashes into a stall with one hell of a bang and time turns slow motion as if he’s in a movie. Jim needs to think fast. Or maybe he could just run. So he runs to the exit. And as if to prove once more just how wrong Jim was the Infected moves very fast. Or maybe he’s just too weak and slow. Apparently, the housewife has been on a better diet than Jim for the last three months. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel like he’s the main character in this movie anymore, he’s just the funny guy who dies in the first scene to give the actual main character a perfect place to start.

So he runs, and he stumbles, and he falls. Like it’s expected from the guy who dies first.

She closes in on him and time moves even slower as Jim takes his gun and aims, his hands are shaking, he can hear his own breath in his ears. “Yes, come at me, sis!” he shouts dramatically as if the sis could appreciate the joke. The first shot hits her in the shoulder but she’s absolutely undeterred by it, only the force of the bullet makes her stumble back briefly. Jim misses the second shot by a few inches as he hits a shelf crawling backwards. He pulls the trigger once more and then again but now only the useless clicks of an empty round fill the surrounding air. He feels the blood pounding in his ears, so loud, he’s sure the infected can hear it as well. An awfully distorted smile appears on her face and she tilts her head to the side in an unnatural angle. Jim made a dead thing smile - the peak of his career as a comedian.

See? He’s a funny guy. Soon to be a dead guy. Because apparently he suddenly sucks at shooting. A few days ago his hands started to shake whenever he held his gun. That’s what almost a week without food and no proper sleep does to you. Even if your name is Jim Kirk. Well, he thinks it’s been about a week, but time doesn’t exist anymore.

He closes his eyes tightly in a desperate attempt to stop the world for a second. He’s aware it won’t work, it never did before. But there was always someone with him before, someone for him. Because he’s not a bad guy, not a good guy either, but he’s funny, he’s attractive, he’s a good friend and definitely a good fuck. He doesn’t deserve to die. Not like this, not this early. Why was he so foolish to believe he could make it all alone? He’s never been good at being alone.

The loudest bang Jim has ever heard in his life followed by the ghoulish sound of a definitely dead body hitting the floor echoes through the halls. He opens his eyes and sees a guy with a shotgun towering over him.

So here comes the main character who takes his place in the story.

Jim looks at his savior with wide, disbelieving eyes. Time has come to a stop and he’s still in a movie. The guy just nods at him without saying a word, his lips pressed together in a thin line, reloads his weapon and then shoots again, and again, in another direction. The sound of two more bodies hitting the floor follow. Aaaaaand cut!

“Didya really think you could kill those with this tiny little thing?” the guy asks in a gruff voice gesturing at Jim’s gun and there’s no hint of humor in his tone.

Jim scowls and gets to his feet, dusting himself off, which is absolutely useless. He simply needs new clothes. The gaping holes in the knees of his jeans are so wide they’re gonna turn his pants into shorts very soon.

When he opens his mouth to make a joke about powerful little things the guy shouts “Go go go! Move! There are more!” grabs him roughly by the arm and pulls him towards the exit.

Jim doesn’t even have time to think as he’s being dragged to the parking lot and then forcibly shoved into a white van, like a classic case of kidnapping. He just feels the weird excitement of still being alive and in one piece. Then his savior jumps into the driver’s seat, slams the door shut and hits the gas.

In the side mirror Jim watches a dozen of Dead following them surprisingly fast, they’re endurant, those damn things, but they stay behind as soon as the car picks up speed. He sighs in relief and lets out a small victory whoop.

“Wow, that was close. I owe you big time, man.” He looks at his savior with a wide smile but the guy simply stares straight ahead, hands gripping the wheel tightly.

“For real, you just saved my ass,” Jim bumps the guy’s shoulder with his fist, lightly, but he flinches as if Jim just hit him.

“I am aware. Don’t touch me,” the guy says quietly, his eyes glued to the road.

“Okay,” Jim drawls, confused. Mean people are not rare, in fact, in this chaotic world a stranger doesn’t usually stop and lend a helping hand to a dying man. Best case they’d just look the other way, but usually they just flee certain death to profit from a situation. So if the dude isn’t friendly at all, why would he go out of his way and save some random guy’s ass?

Jim gets that sinking feeling in his stomach, telling him to open the door and jump out of the car immediately. “Don’t trust anyone,” they said, actually it was more like “How fucking stupid do you have to be to give away the beans in exchange for this?” or “Of course he wanted to kill us!” or “It’s clearly not pork, Jim!”. Somehow Jim always does what he’s been specifically told not to, despite logic, common sense, and sometimes his own gut feeling. The memories make him shiver, but he can’t let the stranger know he’s anxious, it’s never a good idea, so he breathes out and sits back. He decides to put his escape plan to rest for a while, it’s never too late to cut and run, unless you got cut and can’t run, but those are details.

Jim throws quick glances at his new fellow every now and then. The guy doesn’t look too dangerous, but they never do until they put a gun to your head. They all look the same - just tired, hungry, lonely people on the road, wandering without destination.

The guy is pretty much skin and bones, as is everyone these days, which is obviously a good thing, only man eaters are well-fed now. But Jim can still see what’s left of what once must have been rather well defined muscles. During their short run Jim noticed that the guy is about as tall as him but bulkier and that they look to be about the same age. Which would be twenty something, you can never tell, people look much older than they really are these days. He doesn’t smell bad either, that’s always a plus. Jim thinks he could use a friend now that his old buddies turned out to be shitty ones and ditched him. So he starts talking.

“I’m Jim, by the way…” He’s good at it. Communication. It’s important in a world where you can’t trust anybody anymore. “Yeah so, I’m from Riverside, small town in Iowa, there’s nothing there but corn and then some more corn. Well, not even that’s there anymore now...” Making acquaintances. Talking. Being nice. Other things if needed. “Hey, look, do you need gas? There’s a station over there, doesn’t look exploded and I know how to siphon fuel!” But there’s no reaction from the other. Jim sighs quietly and rolls his eyes at the window. The world has changed but it’s still working. You have to be careful to make the right impression. He’s probably only still alive because he can talk himself out of almost any situation, involving living people, of course. With dead things it’s obviously a useless skill. He can also run really fast. “... anyway, so I told them to fuck off and.. You’re not listening, huh?”

The stranger hits the brakes suddenly, making Jim’s body lurch forward somewhat, and, without changing his facial expression (which had been a perfect example of a scowl all the way through Jim’s razor sharp, witty monologue) says quietly, “Okay, we lost them, so you’re free to go wherever you’ve been heading to.”

Jim gapes at him. “Wait what? Why?” But the guy just shrugs, steadily looking at the road as if there was something other than the faded yellow double line.

“You can’t just leave me here in the middle of nowhere. Not without a car or something,” Jim mumbles as he slowly takes a look around. “There’s nothing here. Even more nothing than in Iowa and that’s got to say something.”

The guy’s face hasn’t changed a bit. “In my experience the middle of nowhere is the safest place on earth. But if you prefer me to leave you in any other place just tell me where. I’m not gonna drive you to Iowa though.”

“You know we could travel together. It’s more fun and definitely safer...”

“Yeah, no, that’s not really my thing,” the other says wryly, “So either you tell me where I should bring you or you get out.”

The guy is obviously persistent to get rid of Jim, but when has that ever stopped him before. Jim’s just not ready to give up yet. He knows people. It’s something he’s had to learn the hard way. He’s decent at hand-to-hand combat but that’s pretty useless because you don’t want to get too close to the Dead if you can avoid it, and usually he’s a good shot as well. But his most valued skill is that he can read people like a book - an eye twitch, a lip’s twist or a head tilt that’s barely even there. Stupid human body - it gives almost everything away, it just bursts out before they can do something about it. He can almost hear their thoughts and knows what they want before they’re even aware of it themselves, he just knows where to look.

Beyond that, it’s all just basic needs.

The guy might think he doesn’t need anyone, but the truth is that everyone needs a friend, a mate, a fellow… Okay, maybe that’s just Jim. He desperately needs someone to talk to, someone to get his back. To be on watch while he’s sleeping, shitting or doing other things from the list of basic human needs. He doesn’t remember the last time he really slept. Actually he does. But that’s not a very nice story and he doesn’t want to be more upset than he already is.

Of course there are people who prefer to travel alone and obviously this guy is one of them, but Jim isn’t and that’s why he needs to make him change his mind. He ponders about it for a moment. Luckily, the other started driving again.

“We left my car in the parking lot,” Jim states plainly after another minute of silence.

“You can always get a new one. Do you need my help getting out of the car?” Jim could swear he hears a hint of amusement in his tone.

“But all of my things were in there!”

“You’ll find new things. This world is full of abandoned things.”

There’s something strange in how the guy doesn’t look at Jim at all, he just stares out at the empty road, not even blinking. Maybe he is a psycho after all, Jim thinks. The thing is the entire world’s gone insane. If a man acts normal now that looks suspicious.

Truth is, Jim’s just really tired of being alone, this guy is the only person he’s met in weeks and there’s definitely something off about him. But the thing is that he has a deep, somewhat rough voice that soothes Jim in ways he doesn’t want to examine too closely just yet and, well, that’s something Jim wants to think about later. Much later. All alone, walking down a road. Nice picture.

He’s ready to tell the stranger to stop the car again to let him get out when he suddenly speaks up. “Okay, let’s find you a new car but then you will leave me alone. Understood?” He glances at Jim.

“Yes, absolutely, thank you!” Jim couldn’t be more grateful right now, he leans back again, shoulders a little more relaxed.

“What’s your name?”

It takes a solid minute for the guy to consider giving out his name before he mutters “Leonard.”

“Leo- nard? Really? Who names their kid Leonard in this day and age?”

Leonard slams on the brakes again and quietly but sternly enunciates: “Get out. Of. My car.”

“Sorry, jeez you’re testy. Maybe that’s because you’re lonely.” Jim raises his hands in what he hopes is a placating manner. Maybe he should choose his speech a little more carefully. Clearly the guy doesn’t have a sense of humor.

Jim sighs dramatically. This would be a long trip. “Everyone needs a friend.”

“I need you to leave me alone.”

“Sorry, sorry. I promise not to talk anymore.”

And then they drive, and Jim talks. A lot.

  



	2. How fragile we are

“You know what’s definitely improved? Traffic!” Jim sits back, hands behind his head, wide, pleased smile on his face. 

Leonard sighs, louder this time. His new fellow passenger won’t stop talking, as if his life depends on his ability to chatter incessantly. If you think about it, chitchat could save you some time, your life even, in different situations, but Leonard prefers to stay away from people just in case, he’s not great at small talk. He’s the opposite of great, actually. While some people can talk themselves out of deadly situation, he might actually talk himself into one. 

Over the last hour Jim revealed his entire biography in chronological order, unrequested, and asked roughly a hundred questions that Leonard opted to ignore, pretending to be somewhat hard of hearing. Of course he still took in most of what the other said, it’s hard to ignore the constant chatter. Leonard got the feeling that the guy, Jim, even though he seemingly told him just about everything that happened in his life, still managed to not reveal anything of importance about himself. Or maybe his life really was that one dimensional, who knows. The thing is, Leonard feels like he’s about to faint again and that’s way more concerning than his new uncalled travel companion’s verbal diarrhea. 

Leonard tries his best to focus on the solid yellow double line, ignoring the surrounding landscape and how it starts to wobble. Normally he would just stop and take a walk, breathe some fresh air and revive, but now he can’t let the guy notice he’s not feeling well. Non-existent perks of not being alone.

“Maybe you’ll at least tell me where you’re from?” Jim asks in the most innocent tone possible after another drawn out pause in his monologue. 

Leonard just shrugs. 

“Or where you’re heading?”

Leonard opens his mouth as if he’s considering actually answering the question. “No.” 

He clings to the wheel as he gets a little bit disoriented all of a sudden and the edges of his vision start to go dark. One day it will cost him his life. He tilts his head from side to side to stretch his stiff neck. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Jim watching him carefully. 

“You look kinda pale, are you okay? Maybe we should stop and like... take a walk, stretch our legs?”

“You know, you should take a nap while you can,” Leonard cuts him off and looks at him expectantly. 

While the advice itself is total bullshit, who’d sleep in a stranger’s car even back in the days when everything was  _ okay?! _ Jim considers it for a second. 

“Nah, I’m fine.” 

Leonard shrugs. No one is fine. The problem with the new world order, or rather, the deficiency of the order, is that they can’t afford, sometimes can’t risk, to sleep anymore. The infected are everywhere and they don’t sleep at all. There are too many of them still and they’re just roaming the streets chaotically; they may not be very keen-witted, but they’re extremely high-motivated, hunger-led, fueled by some brutal fury. Well maybe they’re not too different from the survivors. However, unlike the still relatively healthy human beings, the infected are just unstoppable, and if you’re not running they will reach you sooner or later. In an isolated system the entropy can only increase. On an isolated piece of terra firma like this country the entropy has hit its peak. Leonard revised that himself, in the past two years he visited every state. 

The tired universe just wants to rest. 

“I can drive and you can sleep,” Jim suggests. 

“I’m good.”

This is just paranoia at its finest. You think that when the world is in ruins, you can do whatever you want, but the truth is that you can’t even sleep when you really really need to. They’re forced to live like animals, to trust their primal instincts only, but at the same time they neglect the needs of their own bodies which have to function at full capacity, and that contradicts their primal instincts. A complete clusterfuck. 

Jim shakes his head, as if he can hear Leonard’s thoughts. “No you’re not, you look like you’re about to collapse.” 

Leonard gives him an annoyed look, but then just murmurs “I’m fine, thanks.” 

“Got anything to eat?” Well this is just cheeky. Leonard doesn’t have anything to eat, in fact, he hasn’t eaten in two days.

“You’ve already asked that twice!”

“Yeah I’m just checking. It seems like you’re daydreaming, you know, and not listening to me really…” 

“I’m listening.”

Leonard’s not listening. 

“Also I’m really hungry.” 

He just wants to get rid of the guy as soon as possible and set off for his place. The problem is that they can’t find a decent car. They combed the suburb all over, but a good half of the cars they found were out of gas, the other half not good enough for Jim, so they had to get on the highway, no luck. The last time Leonard drove this road it was packed with vehicles of all sorts, he even had his eye on a very nice van for himself. Now it looks like someone tidied up with a giant broom, quite literally. All the cars had been shoved away to the sides of the road, some even thrown off to the field, where they are now, all dinged up on the rumpled grass, scorched by the sun. 

His plan to dispose of the intruder just fell flat anyway. Maybe Jim’s right after all and they should stop and investigate.

Suddenly Leonard can smell biting cigarette smoke and wrinkles his nose. The smell. It brings back childhood memories somehow. That’s the moment Leonard realizes that Jim has turned unusually quiet, as if he’s finally ran out of stupid questions, or…

“Hey, what the fuck!” Jim gasps when Leonard picks the cigarette out of his mouth and throws it out of the window. 

“No smoking in my car.”

Jim stares at him, open-mouthed with wide eyes. “Are you worried that your interior will smell, or is it about my health?” His voice is almost mocking.

“My car, my rules,” Leonard says sternly and Jim chuckles. Of course he has rules. 

“So you have rules.” 

“I do have rules.” 

“How many?”

Leonard pretends to count. “Many.” 

“Sweet.” Jim leans back in the seat and puts his hands behind the headrest. “This car is like fifty years old. Where did you get this bucket?”

“If you want to smoke do it outside,” Leonard says stubbornly. If he’s completely honest - he’s bitching for no reason at all, just because. He’s not worried about second-hand smoking even in the slightest. Look, he’s not one of those super straight edge guys, it’s the apocalypse, for fuck’s sake, their summarized chances as a biologic species to make it through another five years are alarmingly close to zero. Okay, maybe fifteen percent, but not any higher. 

He loves the smell. He also loves bitching. 

“Well you‘d have to stop for me to be able to do so,” Jim notices reasonably and Leonard gives him a long look, but then he sighs, takes in the absolutely empty road and clear surroundings and stops the car. 

“You’re probably right.” 

Once Jim is outside he lights up a new cigarette. “You’re not planning to jump into the car and leave me here alone, right?” His tone is careless and he smiles nonchalantly; there are sparks in his unnaturally blue and restless eyes and Leonard doesn’t answer just out of spite. 

Open spaces never make him nervous. It’s actually very reassuring to know there’s no one else around for miles and miles. But it’s getting dark. He opens his arms in a wide warm welcome - welcoming the freedom, welcoming the loneliness - and lifts them overhead, reaching for the empty skies. Jim watches him, astonished. Then Leonard tilts his head to the sides with a crackling sound that makes Jim shiver. He sniffs the air a little, it’s cool and fresh. Something that‘s definitely improved - they finally have clean air. Greenpeace activists surely rejoiced, if there are any left. 

“What’s wrong?” Jim suddenly asks. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You stopped when I asked. I know you for a couple of hours, at most, and I feel like you don’t really like me.” At this part Leonard scowls at him. “And it’s totally fine, but it’s not like you to do things that I ask. So what’s wrong?” 

Leonard gives him a surprised look. The guy has a point though. “You tell me.” They exchange quick glances. “What are we looking for?”

“A car?” Jim drawls hesitantly. He refused to take every car they managed to find for some stupid made up reasons in the hopes that Leonard would eventually lose the thought of ditching him. Jim takes a look around and finally realizes what’s bothering his new companion. “Hey, these are all crushed!” 

“There you go.” Leonard hums. 

“Well okay, but why is that so weird?”   
Leonard’s habit to speak so monosyllabic is starting to get to Jim. 

“I’ve been here before…” Jim gives him an impressive look compelling him to keep talking. “There were cars. A lot. Otherwise I wouldn’t have driven us here.” 

“And when exactly was the last time you were here?” Jim asked with a raised eyebrow.

Leonard rubs the back of his neck. “Couple of weeks ago.” 

Jim sneers. “Yeah, well obviously someone’s been here since then and, I don’t know, just smashed the cars. Out of spite. Act of vandalism. Or for therapeutic reasons. Sometimes you just need to blow off some steam and relax, you should try that sometime.” Leonard looks at him with an intensity as if he’s trying to burn him alive through the sheer power of thought alone. “Yeah no, you’re fine. Absolute confidence and composure.” Jim draws one more cigarette from the pack and lights it. 

“These things will kill you.” Leonard mumbles disapprovingly. Again, he doesn’t really care, it’s just some forgotten habit, conditioned reflex. He used to say that a lot, to his father. But it’s not like he ever listened either.

“Yeah, can’t wait.” Jim snorts. The way Leonard wrinkles his nose at the smell of smoke makes him smile with a feeling of profound satisfaction. To get a reaction from the dude is something akin to winning the lottery. Of all the people Jim’s been lucky to meet he’s one of the most self-contained. 

He looks around trying to perceive what’s bothering his moody companion. There’s nothing really wrong with the mess surrounding them. 

At first, when the world collapsed into chaos, they couldn’t grasp what’s going on and what it would bring. Some would break into mansions and rob banks, but some would just destroy everything in their path - windows, stores, cars, everything - taking it out on things that mattered at the time. The world was buzzing like a furious wasps’ nest for a week, maybe two. Then it was silent and they realized only life mattered now, and you’ve got to run to keep it, quietly and really fast. 

Jim throws the cigarette butt to the ground and grinds it into the asphalt with the tip of his boot. “Okay, let’s go, I think I’m done.”

But Leonard stays still, as if he’s rooted to the spot, ignoring his words. He’s straining his ears, he’s looking around carefully, he’s sniffing, all visceral, reminding Jim of a wild animal smelling danger.

“Let’s go Leo-”, he says louder this time, but he realizes he made a huge mistake when he gets a fierce look from his companion, and quickly adds: “-nard.”

“Can you hear that?”

“What?” But in reply Leonard just grabs him by the hand and drags him in the direction opposite of the car, jumps into the tall dry grass at the side of the road, dragging him along. “The fuck, dude, I always appreciate spontaneity but if you want to get some, at least buy me lunch first, okay?” 

“Shut up!” Leonard hisses. And, what comes as a surprise to both of them, Jim obeys. “Listen.” 

And Jim listens. At first, to be fair, he’s distracted by the chirring in the grass, then by the rustling, then by Leonard’s shallow breathing, and then he hears the whirring.

“A car, a big one...It’s a truck, no… it’s a lot of trucks…” he whispers in surprise. Whirring turns into a roar and, peeking through the tall blades, he finally spots a cloud of dust which appears to be a truck convoy, headed by some kind of ridiculously huge snowplow. “Holy shit, so this is what—” 

“Shut the hell up!” Leonard knows what this is and how it works, and all he can do is watch helplessly as his van is being brushed away from the road like it's just a piece of useless garbage; the string of military vehicles that even looks to include some kind of launching platform storms past them like thunder. 

When it’s gone and the thunder has quieted, Leonard lies down on his back and stares silently at the huge clouds sailing the dark blue, birdless skies. It might rain later, maybe even storm. It’s time to look for shelter, but damn, he‘s so tired. He’d lie here for the rest of the day, and the night, and the next day, just watching the skies, till the grass grows through him, and he becomes soil, and it’s finally over. 

“Hey, you think it’s time to take a nap  _ now? _ ” Jim’s excited voice breaks through his stupor. “That was the military, right? We should follow them! They’ll lead us to—”

“The Shelter?” Leonard snorts. “Don’t tell me you believe in the fairytales.” 

“It exists,” says Jim firmly. “You’ve seen it just now! There’s only one place the military might be headed.” 

“Or some idiots decided it would be fun to go for a ride on tanks,” Leonard suggests scoffingly and jumps to his feet, but his vision becomes blurry again and he barely manages to remain standing. “Damn...” He presses his fingers to his temples and squeezes his eyes shut, and then - jumps up to the skies, when Jim puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Leonard hisses through clenched teeth, shaking off Jim‘s hand and heads to the van to examine its poor remains. It lays on its side like a beached whale. 

Jim just stands there with his hand raised. “Okaaaay?” he draws out half questiongly. “Someone’s woken up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?” 

“Last time I slept was in my van two days ago,” Leonard murmurs absently. He pulls the handles of the crumpled back door and shakes his head. “It’s dead,” he announces finally, as if it wasn’t obvious yet. The van is a total wreck, still Leonard circles around it, gently tapping on its badly scratched sides, as though he could fix it with a touch or the power of will. 

“We have to follow the trucks!” Jim tries one more time. 

Spock would insist that they should try to communicate with the Survived in any case. Of course they all were mostly crazy, driven completely insane by fear, hunger and the loss of their near and dear ones, but that’s not the point. 

The five of them had traveled along the east coast and people would tell them they saw military vehicles and uniformed personnel, and rumor had it they flocked to the central states, or maybe to the East, but they refused to answer any questions, or even stop to provide help. Any bit of information could be important to find The Shelter. Nobody even knew where the idea of The Shelter came from, but if someone could possibly be powerful and organized enough to reunite the Survived and segregate in a safe place, then most likely it would be the military. Of course they had evacuation plans and protocols in place when it all started, and of course they all failed, because everything went to shit and complete disaster in a matter of seconds. But they believed that something would remain intact. 

Apparently, Leonard doesn’t share this belief. 

He now stands in front of the tipped-over van, arms crossed over his chest, looking around. “ _ I _ don’t have to do anything.  _ You _ can go wherever you want.” 

“On foot?” Jim draws one more cigarette and lights it up.

His new grumpy pal just shrugs in reply and keeps looking at the van in thought. 

Jim counts the cigarettes left in the pack. Six. He can go without food for over a week, but he won’t last long when he’s out of smokes. In his car, the one they left in the parking lot, he had a block of cigarettes. And several packs of decent coffee. And a briki. Even Spock had to admit Jim made the best coffee. And now he can’t even go back to collect his fucking briki. He sighs, thinking of his abandoned car (that was actually a really cool LR4, almost new) and the swarm of Dead, chasing them from the parking lot for a good mile. There’s a chance they’re still running. The Infected aren’t very smart to say the least, and sometimes even the loss of their target might not distract them. They’ll just keep going until they find new prey. The thought makes Jim shiver. How much time will it take for them to overtake Jim and Leonard? When you’re in a car and moving you’re relatively safe. They don’t have a car anymore, but they can and they totally should keep moving. 

At long last Leonard steps closer to the van, forces the backdoors open with an ear-shredding rasping sound, and gets in crouching. For five minutes there’s clanking and rattling. Then, huffing and puffing, Leonard gets out of the van, dragging out a banged up bicycle. “Rule number whatever: Always have a backup plan,” he declares proudly and smiles, probably for the first time since they met and, honest to God, Jim gets goosebumps of uncertain origin from that smile. 

Leonard leans the bike against the side (which is actually the roof) of the van, palpates its tires and disappears inside again. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Jim sighs loudly. 

Well, one day they’d all have to switch to bicycles anyway. When they ran out of gas. The sad day is near. Ride or die. 

Jim lifts his head, squinting at the sun. Suddenly he wants to see the seashore. He wishes for it painfully. People say that both coasts, especially to the South, are overrun with cutthroats. Well, everyone wants a warm place. Sea food is good, too, and so far he hasn’t heard of zombie fish. God, he’s hungry. 

A huge duffel bag flies out of the van, a couple of knives and an impressive number of guns follow it, all landing on the asphalt with a loud metallic clank. Then Leonard himself reappears, carrying half a pallet of water bottles, and throws an AK-47 right at Jim, who barely manages to catch it. 

“With this you can actually defend yourself, your tiny weapon is useless.”   


“Yeah well, it’s out of bullets anyway,” Jim mumbles and thinks about how mentioning that he’s in pretty bad shape to shoot anything or anyone right now is probably a bad idea.

Whistling some lively tune, Leonard puts the water bottles into the bag and fastens it to the bicycle back carrier, while Jim watches him silently, his mouth open in surprise. 

“Wait, wait, wait, are you gonna ditch me now?’

Leonard shrugs. “Well yeah. The van is wrecked. There’s only one bike.” 

“I can sit on the rack. I’m light as a feather, I swear.” 

“That’s where my bag is.” 

“I can carry it.” 

“And the weapon.”

“I can carry it, too. Look, do you even have ammunition for all of these?” Jim insists, forcing a smile. It’s important to stay positive. It’s important to not give away the despair. It’s vitally important to keep moving. 

Leonard looks at him tilting his head to the side, lips pressed into a thin line. Cool wind whispers in the tall dry grass. Jim considers to snatch the bike and bolt. But Leonard looks better fed than him and also seems to know the surroundings somewhat. And he’s stronger, considering he somehow managed to get the bike out of the van in the blink of an eye. Jim hardly even remembers how to work the pedals of a bicycle, it seems like forever ago that he last rode one - yeah, Leonard would catch him and snap his neck. A couple of minutes pass as they stare at each other silently. The chirping sounds in the grass become unbearable. 

“Okay,” Leonard finally says grumpily. He rummages through his duffel bag and throws away some undefined packages. A couple of guns are sent flying to the field and he tucks a knife under his waistband, before he throws away some more stuff and sighs. “You’re right, I’m almost out of ammo, anyway. Take the bag, it’s less heavy now, I guess.” He examines Jim’s malnourished frame, sighs once again, fishes one more package from the bag and flings it away. “Don’t forget the rifle.” 

Jim nods enthusiastically but frowns and rolls his eyes as Leonard turns around to get on the bike. Jim follows suit, jumping on the rack hastily, almost busting his balls. 

They drive off bumpily, and the bike wobbles heavily, so Jim holds on to Leonard’s waist which, of course, makes him flinch violently, but surprisingly enough he just says: “Hold tight and try to sit still.” 

“So, now we’re companions, right?” Jim asks after about thirty minutes of a quiet ride. 

“Nope,” comes the moody answer. Leonard spins the pedals steadily, where does he even get the energy? 

Suddenly it occurs to Jim. “Oh my god, you like it, right?”

“I like what?” Leonard says irritatedly. His body is tense, every muscle straining underneath the thin sweater. There are beads of sweat on the back of his tanned neck, under curled up strands of brown hair. 

Jim is sweating, tired, his ass hurts mercilessly, and it’s hard to counterpoise on the fucking rack with that stupid bag on his back. Relax, he reminds himself, stop fidgeting, and keep your feet from getting caught in the spokes. Easy. “You smiled when you brought out the bike. You love it… the adventure.” 

“Well, maybe…” Leonard admits. 

“Knew it! So we’re companions now?” 

“Maybe.” 

\---

“Hey you! You, on the bike! Where are you heading?”

Well now that’s a good question. Leonard’s been gloomily working the pedals down the back road for two hours, or two years, all the same, with a hardiness that can only be admired. They came off the main road a little while ago. The reason? Leonard didn’t even bother to explain. Jim’s ass is killing him. His stomach is growling as if it decided to do all the talking for him, since he gave up on entertaining his new friend, so he just watches the bleak landscape. Overgrown fields to the left, overgrown fields to the right. It’s getting dark, the sun slowly sinks lower and lower, diving through heavy clouds, and the air is damp and oppressive. You don’t have to be a meteorologist to predict that it’s going to rain soon. 

When Leonard spotted the van he actually perked up a bit but when he noticed a man near it, he started to lower the speed, looking for a path to turn to, but no luck. 

“You’re gonna stop, right?” Jim asks, hope in his hoarse voice, he was silent for so long. 

“No way,” Leonard replies confidently. He doesn’t enjoy talking to strangers, usually it never ends well for him. Classic example - he’s lost his nice van (it was a really nice van), all his belongings and, most importantly, the opportunity to get to his hideout before dark - and why? Because he went out of his way and didn’t let that nice lady eat Jim. Now his legs are numb, he’s ready to fucking collapse in place and there are still about fifty miles to go. 

“What if he has something nice to trade, huh?” Jim can’t stop fidgeting and Leonard feels they’re losing balance.

“Can you stop that, please,” he hisses angrily, but of course Jim  _ can not _ . He jumps off the rack and, of course, right at that moment the front wheel hits a rock, Leonard fails to squeeze the brakes in time and, gracefully as ever, goes flying over the handlebars. He hits the ground hard, the bike lands dangerously close to him with a loud crash and nearly breaks his back. For a couple of minutes he just lies there, taste of blood and dust on his lips, listening to the beat of his heart and his own raspy breathing. He’s had it worse, so much worse, and this is definitely not the end, but for a moment he wishes it was because he’s just so damn tired. This long and useless struggle to survive just has to end in some ridiculously stupid way for him. One day he’ll just stumble and fall, and twist his own neck. 

When he finally manages to get himself together and get back to his feet, Jim’s already engaged in conversation with a dark-haired man wearing sunglasses. His entire face seems sunken but he still manages to look like a douchebag. He’s wearing a leather jacket and cowboy boots and casts a smile that he probably considers amiable, puffing smoke through his teeth. He carries a rifle over his shoulder and he makes sure both travellers can see it. When he notices that Leonard looks at him he waves his hand, grinning. “Hey you, c’mere, let’s talk. I’m Andy.” 

They always start by giving out their names. As if it wins you some trust. Yeah, right. There aren’t too many of them left. You can call yourself John Kennedy today, Vlad the Impaler tomorrow, whatever, nobody gives a damn. You never meet a person twice, and if you do the second time they’re probably infected, or just dead in some way or another. 

Jim lights up a cigarette. 

Just in case Leonard pretends to be really busy with the bike, but he still carefully watches the chatting men. He’s not good at communication for many reasons, but he sure can shoot fast and accurate. 

Jim looks very interested discussing something, then he throws away the butt of the cigarette and heads over to Leonard, his eyes all shiny. 

“Look, he’s got MRE ration packs.” 

“Yeah, and I’ve got common sense - he has nothing. Let’s go.” 

“Dude, I’m starving. What do you think I was doing in that store?”

Leonard rubs his bruised hip. No good can come of it. “What does he want for it?”

“Batteries. Bullets.” 

Leonard furrows his eyebrows, confused. “He wants batteries for food?” 

“Well… What else do you have, ammo?” 

Leonard sneers. He mentally goes through the stuff he has in the bag Jim still carries on his back. First-aid kit, bottles of water, his flask, a raincoat, sleeping bag, a map, a flashlight and a knife. Some ammo.  And his samples - that are about to spoil and become absolutely useless. The thought of it makes Leonard scream in despair. Internally.  “Forget about it. Let’s go. I don’t have anything.”

Jim watches him intently, his gaze burning a hole in Leonard’s forehead. “You’re a terrible liar. Let me just check your bag.” He takes the duffel bag off his shoulder but Leonard grips his forearm and squeezes it violently. 

Ammo and food have completely replaced money in this new world, because these are the things that keep you alive. Ammo can help to take away someone’s food and, for that matter, life, so it’s kind of more valuable. 

“I’m not giving him my ammo for some spoiled cans, and no sane person would! Let’s go, we need to find a car.” Leonard tries to drag Jim towards the bike, but the little fucker resists. 

“So, lovebirds, can’t decide? Think faster, I’ve got things to do, you know!” the Andy guy shouts. He’s been fidgeting from foot to foot, looking around anxiously. He’s either nervous because he actually needs those batteries that much, or he knows the place isn’t safe. Who knows, who even cares. They have to go. 

When Leonard eases his grip only slightly, Jim frees his forearm in a jerk. 

“Oh you know what, fuck you! You can stay, I’ll go.” Leonard gives up and limps to the bike, because apparently he hurt his knee which is just peachy, forgetting that Jim still has his bag. At least his knife didn’t stab him in the stomach.

He hurt his knee, and he’s about to drop from tiredness, and he’s starving, too. If he keeps moving without stupid breaks to chat to random strangers he’ll be at his place tomorrow afternoon the latest. Of course he might still get lucky and find a car. 

Suddenly Jim catches him by the shoulders and turns him around with unexpected force, surprising even himself. As per usual Leonard’s whole body shivers from the touch. “Listen, we need to take a break, to have a meal or something, we’re both tired…”

“Y-you…” Leonard exhales shakily, and for lack of words he just looks at Jim as fiercely as he can manage. 

“Breathe, okay? Look, I’m sorry about your van, maybe it’s partially my fault…” Leonard scoffs. They totally shouldn’t have stopped on that road and this is not the time to talk about it all. “Okay, let’s say it’s my fault, but I mean, you saved my ass in that store, so.. Let me at least get you a dinner of sorts, okay? Do you have batteries?” 

Leonard looks at him in disbelief. “You’re an idiot.”

“So you do, in the bag, of course.” 

Jim opens the bag, but Leonard snatches it right away. He fishes out a flashlight and shakes out its batteries. “Just for the record, I’m not even that hungry.” He’s aware he sounds like a petulant child and the thought of food alone has his stomach growling traitorously. They’re like animals, they don’t differ from the Infected much. “Maybe I am, but nobody gives food for batteries. It must be spoiled.” 

“Is everything okay, guys?” Andy raises his voice once again. He pokes at the gravel with the tip of one fancy cowboy boot and throws anxious glances at them. The guy looks strangely ageless. 

Andy chews on his lips and his dirty fingers dance upon the handle of his rifle. He’s anxious because he’s scared, that’s the thing. Two idiots on a bike. Who knows what they’re up to.

“Take these,” Leonard holds out the batteries. “I’m not gonna give you my ammo. I’m not an idiot. You are.” 

“Don’t worry, I have something as well.” Jim throws a quick glance at Andy and then looks Leonard in the eye. “You, uh, wait here, I’ll take care of it. By the way, your knee is bleeding.” With that Jim simply walks away, stupid idiot.

He chats with Andy a little more and then they disappear in the guy‘s van. For a second Leonard considers threatening the guy with a gun and stealing his car, or simply getting back on the bike and leaving, but then again, why increase the chaos? The Survived need to chill. The world will never be a better place anyway. 

He sits on the ground and examines his knee. Big deal, a wound, but his favorite jeans are ripped, which sucks. He cleans the wound with some disinfectant from his first aid kit and bandages it right over the pants. He’ll take care of it later, he’s not going to die from tetanus anyway. But the smell of blood can draw the Infected if any of them are wandering around closely. In that sense they’re actual sharks. 

It’s a common mistake that has failed so many, to hide in the city ruins. Can’t hide behind the walls - they follow the sound, the smell of blood and sweat, they feel the body heat. So better run to the fields, at least you’ll spot them from a distance. 

Brainless sharks. 

A few minutes later, Jim shows up again with two packages tucked under his arms. “What’s this? Water?” He asks hoarsely, nodding at the bottle Leonard still holds in his hand. 

“Lab disinfectant.”

“That’s even better.” Jim grabs the bottle and takes a big sip to apparently rinse his mouth and spit everything out. Leonard looks at him, bewildered. “Are you insane?“ Jim just shrugs. “It’s not like I swallowed it. Let’s go while he’s still in the van.“

Leonard looks at him astonished, his hazel eyes sparkling in the light of dusk. “Wait, what did you do there in the van?”

“Oh come on, let’s go, I’m starving.” 


	3. Pure morning

An hour after Leonard started pedalling again he realizes he can’t even tell where he’s riding anymore. Where’s the sky, where’s the ground? They’re surrounded only by the impenetrable darkness, and it’s starting to rain. 

“Shit,” Jim comments, though the situation clearly doesn’t need an explanation. 

Leonard stops the bike carefully and places both feet on the ground. “Okay, if we go off the road and hide in the field he won’t find us.” Jim yawns in reply and gets off the carrier rack. 

“I can’t see anything either, though. Such a pity the flashlight doesn’t work without batteries,” Leonard says acidly. 

Jim giggles. “Well now that you say it, I should’ve just kept the batteries, he wouldn’t have noticed anyway.”

“So you’re that good, huh?” 

“I’m magnificent.” 

There’s a certain negative side to the pitch blackness - Jim can’t see Leonard’s excellently performed eyeroll. They slowly work their way through the tall wet grass, stepping carefully to avoid molehills. Finally, Leonard just throws the rattling bike aside next to some shrubbery and literally falls to the ground. It’s certainly a good thing that he can’t even feel his legs. Otherwise his knee would be killing him. 

“Oh, so right here?” Jim asks.

He might as well not have done it, because there’s only silence in reply and the whisper of rain on the grass, so he drops the duffel bag and sits down. When his eyes are accustomed to the darkness, he unpacks one ration pack. 

“Nothing better than an expired field ration shared with a good friend on a nice rainy evening,” he proclaims, still no answer. “Are you sleeping? Are you dead?” Jim ignites his lighter to see his companion’s features more clearly. 

He’s two feet away, fast asleep, curled up in a fetal position, with his hand under his cheek.

“Yeah, don’t bother, just nap there, I’ll watch,” Jim grunts, going through the ration pack. He’s noticed his fellow traveler doesn't feel the need to explain his actions at all, but it's also very bold (or a sign of utter stupidity, or dead tiredness) to fall asleep just like this. Jim covers him with the sleeping bag he’s found in the duffle, puts on a raincoat he’s found there as well and entertains himself with food. He did some good work to get it, and as a bonus he stole two packs of cigarettes from the jerk. 

It starts to rain even more, and Jim’s freezing so he lights another cigarette for phantom warmth and pulls the hood down deeper. The ration crackers are like rocks, but he crunches heartily. He’s careful with the food though, leaves cans for tomorrow. He knows better than to stuff his face right away after such a long run on just bottled water. He feels almost happy, but he would kill for a good cup of coffee now. He has to keep watch, he can’t fall asleep, so he just smokes one after another. His lighter illuminates Leonard’s sleeping figure as he lies there motionless, dead asleep, almost unbreathing. 

Jim hates night watches the most. You can at least enjoy the scenery in the light of day. At night only a fool would start a bonfire. There aren’t many fools like that left. Natural selection goes faster these days. Anyway. 

In the end, he would just sit in the dark, feeling stupid and alone, poking Scotty or Chekov from time to time so they stopped snoring. Or just because he could. Spock wouldn’t let him smoke. He sleeps lightly. He would wake up and tell him off in his signature fashion - short and insolent. When Spock wants he can be really cruel. However, it doesn’t matter anymore. His new friend is sleeping deep and silently. 

Jim buries himself in the huge raincoat, it has a nice soft lining and smells like home. Someone else’s home. 

Suddenly Jim notices distant lights on the road and throws himself to the ground. The vehicle is moving slowly, the light breaking through the darkness, bathing the fields in a diffuse glow. Jim curses under his breath and stubs the cigarette in the ground. 

“Hey, what’s going on, did I pass out?” Leonard mutters, stirring awake. Jim crawls over to him and presses him heavily to the ground when he tries to sit up. 

“That’s the cowboy, I‘m sure, he’s looking for us. I may have stolen something from him.”

Leonard only sighs in reply. Jim’s hand weights down on his chest like an anvil, smothering him and he inhales shakily. As the lights move down the road, Jim takes away his hand and Leonard can finally breathe again, so he does. They don't dare to get up, or even move, just yet. Shoulder to shoulder they stare into the blackness of the skies as the raindrops tickle their faces. 

After a while, when he deems it safe again, Jim sits up and grabs a package of food close to him, as if it would just grow a pair of legs and run away. 

“Did you suck him off for the fucking cans?” Leonard asks gloomily, not really meaning it, but who knows. There are still some things that kind of value as much as bullets and batteries. 

“Do you have a problem with that?” 

“No! I mean. No. But there are other ways, you know.” Leonard doesn’t have a problem with _ that _ . Mostly because despite being twenty-four he doesn’t think about _ that _ that much. There are various ways to get food and stuff. Sex is distracting. Thinking of sex is distracting. He can’t afford being… distracted. 

Jim shrugs, the raincoat rustles in the wet grass. “That way is the easiest. People are slow to wave a gun when they just got their rocks off.”

“Charming.”

“And you’d prefer to starve to death?” Jim suddenly gets irrationally angry. So good and virtuous, this guy. 

“No! I mean next time at least talk to me before doing stupid shit, okay?” 

“I tried, actually… But more importantly, are you saying we’re a team now?”

Leonard sits up and takes a look around. “Take a nap if you feel like...taking a nap.” Darkness surrounds them and it’s strangeling, pressing down on his shoulders, sinking under his skin. “He’s gone. Sleep. I’ll watch.” 

Jim sighs loudly, lying down on the ground. “I didn’t suck him off, I only pretended I was going to, flirted a bit, then kicked him in the nuts, knocked him out, took the food and some cigs, and… I had to kiss him once, it was disgusting. Did you see his teeth?” 

Leonard shivers in disgust. “Nice. Now sleep.”

\---

Leonard fixes the sleeping bag to cover Jim’s shoulders, surprising even himself with his gentle gesture. Jim had been asleep within minutes of Leonard telling him to rest. Over the last couple of years he’s had to learn how to save his own neck, and there were reasons for that. One of them - it’s hard to find your people. One more - it’s even harder to lose them. 

He always has the sleeping bag with him, it’s vitally important. 

Once a group of people, only about twenty including himself, decided to try their luck and hide in the North. Someone came up with the idea that the Infected couldn’t stand low temperatures. The Great Expedition. They all died, all of them. Except Leonard.

Of course they were wrong, the Infected don’t give a damn about the weather, they don’t care about anything at all - they’re weatherproof, waterproof, fireproof, they’re generally death-proof. People are not. And when Leonard found himself all alone in the middle of a snowy valley, in his old converse and a between-seasons jacket, he learned something new - with that new cool super virus turning people into walking corpses, the boring cold and hypothermia are still relevant. Luckily, he doesn’t get sick easily but that was one occasion, and he was left wandering the snow-covered streets looking for a pharmacy, firing back through his blurry vision and weakness, feverish. He even saw a bear. Or hallucinated a bear. Big and scary. Priceless experience. 

Well, at least he’s learned there’s always enough ammunition and other resources to stock up on up north. 

The sun is rising lazily and white fog floats over the field. Jim’s lips move silently, he never shuts up, not even in his sleep. Now, what is Leonard supposed to do? Stuck like a leech. He feels responsible and that’s just stupid. He’s used to feeling numb and kind of stunned. All his emotions dulled, only his senses, what he needs to survive, are heightened. He can’t take the responsibility of dragging someone along with him. He should just get on the bike, ride down the road, he’d be safe by night time, and warm. The apricots have probably grown ripe by now as well, branches heavy. Maybe even the first peaches. He could leave Jim a gun, he’s feeling generous. 

Leonard gets up, stretches his legs and takes a look around. There are just fields for miles and miles, an overhead electric line somewhere in the distance, and the empty road. The grass is trampled down around them and where he left the bike yesterday. The particular scent of a morning after a rainy night hangs in the air, it’s cool and fresh and fills his lungs and sends shivers down his spine. He almost feels like screaming something loud and stupid. Of course he would never. 

The survivors mostly prefer to band together, it makes a lot of things easier - hunting and gathering, defending yourself against the Infected or, should it come to that, other groups of people. Some manage to settle down and organize communities or something similar, those are the craziest. Well, it works, somehow, but not for long. When the Infected sniff out the groups eventually, and they always do, they come in tidal waves. And it always gets to a point where you can’t fight back anymore. Sooner or later you run out of bullets and no matter how many of them you can kill, there will always be more. There are too many of them. 

The only way out, as Leonard has ascertained, is roaming. To never be in one place for too long. It’s kinda fun, even. You only keep necessary things and a car, and you’re always ready to go. He even learned how to get along without a companion. He’s a pro survivor. He’s just not particularly sure if that’s a good thing. 

Leonard frowns remembering yesterday’s acquaintance, Andy, his dirty hands and sunken face, his restless lubricous gaze. Leonard would never have gone near that guy, not that he would ever even have a reason to. He doesn’t trade or steal things, he doesn’t need anyone’s help, he’s better on his own, as experience has shown. Jim takes the lazy way out but at the end of it - who cares? Humans are programmed by nature itself to survive and breed, propagation at all cost. At the same time, ironically, nature gave humanity intellect - dangerous, unsustainable, suicidal. Now look where it got them. From the most advanced technologies back to the very start - and they’re still at each other’s throats, quite literally this time. Some things never change. 

Jim flinches a little as if he can feel Leonard’s gaze. Dirty-blond strands of hair fall into his face and he wrinkles his nose, slowly awakening. He looks so young, innocent even. Except that he’s not. The world has lost its innocence, and all those who survived did as well. 

“Did you eat?” Jim asks, yawning. He sits up and stretches his arms. 

Leonard nods, watching him closely. He’s handsome, this guy, not that it matters, it’s just. A fact. Kinda skinny, but he’s seen worse, about his height, sun-tanned skin but not quite as dark as Leonard’s. But it’s Jim’s eyes that are definitely his most striking feature. They are the goddamn bluest eyes Leonard’s ever seen. Before the world went to shit and definitely after as well. And there’s so much life in them, even when he’s not smiling. It’s fascinating. No wonder Andy bought it. There’s energy sparking from his every move, you could probably charge car batteries with the guy. And well, he doesn’t deserve to die just because he’s been lucky to stick with Leonard. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? How long did I sleep?”

Leonard shrugs and rubs the inside of his elbow absently. “Four hours maybe?”

“Woah, that’s longer than I had for the past week. All thanks to you!” Jim beams at him and fistbumps Leonard’s shoulder gently. Of course he only gets a frown in reply. 

“Why do you always have to touch me? Just stop it already.” 

“Well, I don’t know, you look so soft and kinda cute,” Jim says with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m not soft!”

“Of course you’re not. You’re really tough. Ferocious. Like.. ugh, my skin’s crawling.” Jim shudders dramatically, still grinning. Then he rummages through the torn up MRE pack and fishes out some crackers. “You need to loosen up a little, you know.” 

Leonard barely manages to catch the energy bar thrown at him. 

They’re enjoying the meal in silence, the first proper breakfast Jim has had in quite a while. The word ‘proper‘ got a whole new meaning after a long few months on not much more than scraps. Jim hates to eat alone. He used to eat together with his family and friends, all gathered around the table. But they’re all gone now, in one way or another, and it’s little more than a stupid habit now, a thing of the past he can’t get rid of, though he probably should. But so far he still hasn’t learned how to enjoy food when there’s no one to share it with. 

“What time of year it is now?” Jim asks suddenly. He realized recently that he actually has no idea. And isn’t it strange, to just forget what month, what season it is? It’s kind of hard to keep track of the time when you’re wandering a huge continent with several climatic regions. It’s probably winter somewhere already, and somewhere it’s always summer. He’s not even sure where he is right now, not that he cares. It’s always been Sulu’s thing, navigating them. It was always funny when he ended up getting lost in the end. At the thought of Sulu Jim’s palms start sweating. Where is he now? 

“It’s June 7, 2016,” Leonard replies mechanically. 

“You’re kidding, right? No way you actually remember the exact date.“ Jim gapes at him before taking another look around. “Looks more like spring to me, maybe April.” 

“Doesn’t look like April at all. It’s always stormy here in April,” Leonard mumbles and carefully takes a bite of the hard bar. 

“It rained yesterday.” 

Leonard snorts in reply. 

“So you just know this stuff, huh?” Jim asks with a raised eyebrow, but his companion doesn’t look at him, busy examining the energy bar. He looks at it with disgust like it’s something alien. Jim considers taking it back and eating it himself but that would be impolite. 

Leonard definitely has the appearance of a guy who keeps track of time and stuff. Happiness takes no account of time, they say, but the guy doesn’t look like someone who knows how to enjoy fuck all. Jim would suggest a joint or two, but unfortunately all his weed was left in that damned parking lot as well.

Quite unexpectedly, Leonard sighs and pushes the left sleeve of his sweater back a bit to reveal a digital wristwatch. “It hasn’t failed me yet. Seems to still get a radio signal from somewhere. Even keeps track of daylight saving time and time zones, not that anyone still cares about that.”

Jim looks satisfyingly impressed and shuts up.

“So you have no idea where you are?” Leonard asks. 

“America?” Jim giggles.

“And you won’t ask?” 

“The important question is where we are heading next,” Jim says, brushing crumbs off his dusty clothes. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to go anywhere. He’d stay here, in the silent field, under the gray skies, near this gloomy guy; he feels safe for the first time in many months. 

“We’re going to find you a car and then you’re heading wherever you want,” Leonard says quietly, looking away. 

Jim’s sighs. Not this again. “Hey, you said we’re companions...” 

“Never said that. And even if I did, I lied, I’m sorry.” 

“Dude, I got us the meal! And this is how you thank me?” 

He pierces Leonard with his gaze, trying to figure out why the guy is so incredibly annoyed with him and what the fuck he did wrong. He usually knows it before it happens, but this is just incomprehensible. “I promise not to touch you anymore, like at all, if that’s the thing.” 

Leonard stubbornly won’t look at him, observing the landscape instead. There’s white fog wafting over the sea of grass. Wonderful. “I just prefer to travel alone.” Travel. It’s like he’s talking hiking in a national park, and it makes him feel stupid. 

“Look, I’m just curious, why are you so hell-bent on ditching me?” Jim gets up and lights a cigarette. “I’m sorry you lost your car, that sucks majorly, I know, but I lost my car too, so we’re in the same boat. It’s cool you saved my ass, I’m very grateful but, again, I got us some food and of course I didn’t expect a touching, thankful speech or a hug since you’re apparently made out of glass, but you could at least—”

“Oh my god, it’s because of me!” Leonard shouts, cutting through Jim’s rapid and very emotional speech, but then he frowns almost immediately as if he hadn’t expected such a reaction even from himself. 

“The hell is that ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit?” Jim asks suspiciously and takes a long drag. “We’re not dating, dude.” 

Leonard looks genuinely upset for a second before he quickly regains his composure. “It’s just…you can’t trust anyone and...” He makes an uncertain gesture with his hand. “People die.” 

“Well, duh. There’s some kind of apocalyptic shit happening, if you hadn’t noticed yet, people die all the time!” Jim laughs bitterly. Of course it’s not funny at all. It’s just a ridiculously lame excuse. 

“You don’t understand,” Leonard shakes his head helplessly. 

“Well, then explain!” 

Leonard opens his mouth to say something but then just shrugs. Apparently over the time he spent alone he lost his ability to speak coherently. Maybe he’s never been able to do so. He doesn’t seem like a man of many words.

Jim carefully packs the food back into Leonard’s bag, his hands are shaking. Sometimes you just have to take ‘no’ for an answer and move on. That’s exactly what Spock said, the case was different though, but it could also be applied to the present. Fuck Spock. “Okay, but now we need to find two cars,” he reminds the other. 

Leonard gazes at him, eyes wild, confused, specks of light seem to dance in them. “Why the hell do you even need me?” he asks tiredly after a long pause. 

“I’m actually not quite sure anymore,” Jim replies honestly. 

Soon after, though, Leonard works the pedals of his bike again furiously, and Jim suffers his fate on the back rack once more, not daring to speak. 

\---

They find Andy’s van five miles down the road parked neatly on the side of the road, and it’s empty. Absolutely. No sign of the driver or any of his belongings. While Leonard inspects the car’s interior, Jim just circles around whistling a song he can’t remember the title of. 

“Are there any cigarettes left?” 

Leonard jumps out of the van. “Nope, and it won’t start. No gas.” 

“Maybe he ran out and ditched the car?”

Leonard shrugs. He leans against the van’s side, puts his hands in his jeans pockets and stares into the space in front of him, not blinking. Jim finds himself gazing at him. Leonard’s hair look so soft, even after the rain and surely quite a few days without a proper wash, Jim just wants to touch it. And damn the guy has some great thighs. 

“I think we should go…” Leonard says eventually, but then something happens. He jerks to the side and rubs his neck, then he simply slumps to the ground like a rag doll. Jim scrambles towards him and carefully pats his cheek. “Hey, dude, are you alright?” But Leonard doesn’t respond, he seems unconscious and Jim starts to panic slightly. He has no idea how to act in situations like this. What’s going on?! “Leonard, wake up!” 

Then he feels a sudden sting in his neck and, through his darkening vision, quickly losing control of his own body, he notices fleetingly that Leonard has fantastic cheekbones and a very straight nose. And that there’s a bright orange dart stuck in the side of his neck. 


	4. Afterlife

The first thing  Jim  sees upon waking up is - nothing. A whole lot of nothing, actually. It’s pitch black around him. Panic overcomes him briefly and he almost expects to be overrun by the Dead any second, but then he remembers that the Infected are dumb and don’t capture people. 

People capture people. Jim lets out a sigh. It’s never going to get better, this trainwreck of a life. 

He feels a weight on his right shoulder and even though he can’t see, he knows it’s Leonard, still unconscious. The thought that he’s at least not alone comforts him, and the heat radiating off the other, which stands in stark contrast to the cold hard floor he’s sitting on, helps to ground him. When his eyes get slowly accustomed to the dark, though, he realizes that there are other people here with them. They’re staring at him, their faces are pale, eyes huge, haunted, through the velvet darkness. The air is stuffy and smells like fear. 

“Hey, where are we?” He asks, quietly, although he already knows that no one is likely to answer, just to make sure he’s not just dreaming up those eyes, dirty faces and barely audible whispers. 

The only reply Jim gets, is that the few figures who were previously gazing at him, turn away. So he starts looking around, trying to make out anything in the room that would help him to identify where in God's name they ended up.

The only source of light in the room, which actually seems to be some sort of stone basement, is the faint yellowish glow coming from the small gap under the only door. There are no windows and it smells like wet dust and mold, the ceiling is very low. Jim takes quick count of the people in the room. There seem to be eight others here with them, some lying curled up on the floor, some sitting leaned against the wall. None of them seem to have anything on them besides some ragged clothes.

Jim thinks about trying to talk to the people again when the warm weight on his shoulder begins to stir. Their capturers are apparently good at keeping the dosage of whatever drug they shot them with level.

Leonard jerks hard and sucks in a sharp breath, it’s pure instinct when Jim puts his hand on his thigh, just over the knee, to keep him calm. He doesn’t expect strong fingers to close around his wrist immediately.

“Shh, it’s just me. Jim.” Jim hisses and Leonard’s grip on his wrist lessens.

“What the hell, where are we?” He groans and sits up a bit straighter, letting go of Jim entirely. “Damnit, my head…”

“They drugged us and brought us here. Seems to be some sort of basement, it's definitely underground. No windows, just one door. There are eight others with us down here, they seem unarmed, probably got captured as well.” Jim’s voice is barely more than a whisper. He can feel Leonard shifting subtly to look around. The others still stare at them in thick, vicious silence. 

“This is bad,” Leonard mumbles. 

“Yeah, no shit,” comes Jim’s dry reply. “What’s this place?”

“Purgatory. God fucking damnit,” Leonard swears, “If you hadn’t—“ But he gets interrupted by a sudden, jarring scream. They both flinch bodily and only a few seconds later the door flies open. Jim quickly raises his arm to shield his eyes from the sudden bright light, next to him Leonard has turned away from the door completely. 

“What’s the fucking commotion in here?! I told you to be quiet or else you’ll be next!” A broad figure appeared in the door frame and then the unnatural white-bluish light of a neon tube illuminates the room as the guard seems to have flipped a switch on the outside of the door. 

Knowing that he can’t waste any time and needs to try to get them out of here Jim takes quick stock of the situation, squinting against the light. 

There are only seven other people in here with them, what he thought was the eight turns out to be a lumpy bundle on the floor. As he’d guessed though, the others are all unarmed, cowering on the ground. Except for one person close to the door who seems a lot more alert than the others and looks around frantically. Jim freezes as he sees the man’s face. It’s the douchebag from earlier, Andy.

Jim turns away immediately but it’s too late, the guy has already noticed them. An ugly expression appears on his face and his eyes flicker to Leonard. He opens his mouth to say something but the guard starts speaking again. “Any more screaming and I’ll tell the boss we got a volunteer.” He sneers, bad teeth showing and slams the door shut again. The light turns off shortly after.

“You fucking asshole.” It echoes through the basement.

“Hey, long time no see, buddy,” Jim says with fake cheer in his voice. Next to him Leonard has gone tense. He recognized him, too.

It’s really weird, but it’s kind of reassuring to see a familiar face in these circumstances. It’s strange and so human, and so ugly - for a second Jim’s glad they have Andy as their fellow in misery. “Fancy meeting you here. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a basement kinda guy.”

“Shut the fuck up, you stole from me!”

“Actually, we had an arrangement. You seemed very keen at the time.”

“Exactly, we had an arrangement but you didn’t-”   
That’s when Leonard speaks up, voice calm. “He’s just mad because he didn’t get any.”

“And who the hell are  _ you _ anyway? Your face looks familiar. Do you fuck for food as well?” Andy’s tone of voice lies somewhere between mocking and skepticism.

If Leonard was tense before it’s nothing compared to now. He’s gone absolutely rigid on Jim’s right side. 

“Oh no, Leonard here is a respectable man.” Jim replies instantly without giving Leonard a chance to reply for himself, tone still unnaturally cheery for the situation. He leans back against the wall, regarding what he can see of Andy in the dim light curiously. 

Andy, whose eyes have suddenly gone so comically wide that Jim can see it even through the darkness. But he’s not staring at Jim, he’s staring at Leonard.

Without taking his eyes off him, Andy slams his fist against the door. “Hey! Hey you! Out there! I need to see your top man! I have some information he might be interested in!”

Leonard closes his eyes and throws his head back so it bangs against the wall. He groans when the door swings open. 

“I’m sorry, was I unclear?” The hunk from earlier fills the door frame with his massive figure. Leonard can’t see his face but there are strange honey sweet undertones in his voice that hold the promise of a long and painful death for the troublemaker, whoever he was. “What kind of information?” 

Andy shivers a bit but his voice stays steady. “Not telling you. Take me to your boss.” 

“Jerry, why are you talking to the meat?” comes another muffled voice from behind the wall. 

“He said he has some—” 

“I heard what he said, just take him to the boss.” 

Andy jumps to his feet even before Jerry opens his mouth to say “Okay, let’s go.” 

Jerry gives them a menacing look, grabs Andy by the arm roughly and pulls him out of the room like a bad tooth, what a metaphor, but that’s what he is, if you think about it. The door shuts behind them and the room, the darkness itself, sighs with relief that Leonard can’t relate to. 

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” The question comes and hot breath burns his cheek. 

“Not really.” None of this would have happened to him if not for Jim. Should have thought about it. Shouldn’t have played Good Sam there and just let the Dead get him. 

Jim is still watching him, Leonard can’t quite place his expression. But he doesn’t have a lot of time for it anyway because the door suddenly bangs open again. Leonard braces himself for the inevitable. 

“You,” the guard barks and points at Leonard, it’s the same one as before, Jerry, “Get up and come with me! Now!”

Leonard is ready to follow the guy and just accept his fate, because really, what else can he do? He’s unarmed.  And if there is a chance to escape from this awful place he’s gotta get out of this room soaked in sweat and fear.  But then Jim suddenly jumps up next to him. What an idiot. 

“Hold up, he’s not going anywhere. What do you want from him?” And he actually goes so far as to step in front of Leonard. For a moment Jerry seems equally as surprised but then he narrows his eyes.

Well, this is just peachy. Now they’d probably just cart him away and Jim would end up as dinner, or lunch. Or maybe even breakfast. Leonard pulls a face in disgust. 

“None of your business, get out of the way or—“

“What’s taking so fucking long?! The boss is waiting,” comes another voice and a second guard appears in the doorframe. An ugly sneer appears on Jerry’s face. “This guy here thinks he has any say in what we do.”

“Bring him out, too, then. We needed a new one anyway, might as well be him.” The second guard laughs loudly and Jim is grabbed by the arm and dragged away. He puts up a bit of a fight but it’s no use since Jerry is like six feet five and has definitely been fed well. Leonard knows it won’t do him any good to try and escape or pull any tricks so he lets himself be forcefully guided away. 

They’re led upstairs, through a narrow hallway and get pushed into another room. This one looks a lot more inviting, though. Andy is sitting on an uncomfortable looking chair, throwing nervous glances at the only other person in the room, a woman, who has to be at least eighty but is clearly the one who has the say this place. She has an air of untouchable authority about her that leaves no doubt that she’s in charge.

“That’s the guy he was talking about, granny,” Jerry says and pushes Leonard forwards.  _ Granny  _ regards him with scrutiny. “What about the other one?” She asks, nodding in Jim’s direction. She looks really fucking ancient, Jim can see her pink skull shining through slicked back thin gray hair , but her voice sounds unnaturally young. “He was acting up. Thought he might as well be our next.” He shrugs and grins, foul teeth showing.

The woman makes a non-committal noise. “I suppose so, he’ll do. Tommy, go watch the door again. Jerry, stay.”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Jim snorts suddenly, “Tommy and Jerry? Are you for real?” Leonard shoots him a sharp look but even he has to bite down on a small smile. Jim’s right, it’s ridiculous.

“Shut the fuck up, or else...” Jerry threatens, hand like a vice around Jim’s upper arm.

“Or what? Are you gonna eat me twice?” Jim rolls his eyes.

“I  _ said  _ shut… up…”

“Leave him be, Jerry,”  Granny says with an exasperated sigh, “Can you repeat your very interesting story, darling?” She turns to look at Andy, who seems to shrink into himself on his chair, with somewhat of a cheery smile, which is really creepy, given the circumstances. “Speak.”

He sits up straighter immediately. “This guy,” he points at Leonard, “I saw his face on a- a poster- like a wanted poster, a few months ago. His name, it’s Leonard… McGrath or- or McCoy, I think, definitely something Irish.”

While Andy is speaking Jim is watching Leonard closely. He seems calm but as soon as Andy mentions last names he flinches infinitesimally. None of the others seem to have noticed it, though.

“The poster said they wanted him alive,” Andy continues.

“Who  _ they _ ?” The woman asks sharply.

“The people at The Shelter.”    
There is a moment of silence following that, then Granny starts to laugh. It starts as a chuckle but gets louder and soon the guard joins in hesitantly. 

“The Shelter?!” She asks after calming down again, “So you say you saw a poster?”

Andy nods enthusiastically. 

“And his name was on it.” 

“Yeah and—”

“Was there a phone number or frequency you can call in case you find him?” 

Andy looks at her in confusion and shakes his head slowly. “No, but—”

“Or maybe there was an address you can send a mail to? Or, as an option, geographic coordinates of The Shelter? Did you actually think we would believe this crap?”

“I swear, it’s the truth! It wasn’t like a ‘poster’ poster but— I’m not lying! He’s wanted!” Andy shouts and Jim can see the panic rising on his face. 

“Why doesn’t  _ Leonard _ here tell us himself, he’d surely know if he’s a wanted man.” She turns towards Leonard and his voice is absolutely level when he answers, “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Why would he tell you if he was wanted?!” Andy is staring at them with wide eyes.

“Why would I run away? The Shelter is supposedly the only safe place in this godforsaken world? Why would I avoid their people?” Leonard is still speaking calmly, Jim really has to compliment him for that. “Given it even exists.”

Granny looks back and forth between Andy and Leonard, Jim can almost see the gears turning behind her wrinkled forehead. Eventually she sighs, “Anything else you want to tell us?” She regards Andy skeptically.

“I- I swear! I saw it! He’s a wanted man!” The desperation and panic is now audible in his voice and he keeps looking at Jerry who is fondling a shotgun, slung over his shoulder, lovingly.

“So you have nothing else to tell us?” Granny asks, an evil little smile has appeared on her features. “That’s too bad…”

“No, please I—” But Andy doesn’t get any further. A loud bang echoes through the room, making both Jim and Leonard jump, it’s quickly followed by the sound of a shotgun shell hitting the floor. Then Andy begins to scream in agony, Jerry shot him square in the stomach, there’s blood everywhere, but he’s not dead. Must have been loaded with birdshot.

“Jerry, Jerry, Jerry,” Granny sighs exasperatedly, “How many times did I tell you - not with the shotgun! Now we have a mess again.” She raised her voice to speak over Andy’s wailing. Jerry shoulders the gun again, he looks comically apologetic.

“‘M sorry, Granny, he was getting on my nerves.”

“Well, it’s gonna be your job to sort out the shot then.”

“Yes, Granny,” he mumbles, looking down. Jim watches him closely, he’s a dumbass, everyone can see that, but he’s also bulky and way stronger than  Jim and Leonard put together. He couldn’t just take him on like that. Suddenly, the second guard, Tommy, appears in the door, eyes wide and slightly panting.

“What happened? I heard a shot— oh,” his eyes fall to Andy, he pulls a face at the bloody mess all over the floor.

“Well,” boss lady turns towards Jim, “Seems like today is your lucky day. We prefer the meat fresh.”  She smiles as sweet as sugar and Jim shudders. These people are crazy.  “And you,” she looks at Andy who’s curled up on the floor, still whining in agony, “Be quiet, you’re annoying.” He looks close to passing out but quiets down anyway.

“Tommy, darling, I  _ told you  _ not to leave your post, so get back to it.” Her voice is razor sharp. Tommy scurries away.

“Now to you…,” she addresses Leonard once more, “There has to be a reason our friend here,” she nods towards Andy who seems to have passed out, but Jim is pretty sure he’s not dead, yet, “said he knows your face.”

Jim knows he has to do  _ something  _ to get them out of this situation. Granny doesn’t look like a threat at all,  unless she’s hiding a machine gun underneath her skirt.  Jim’s pretty sure she wouldn’t even be able to walk long distances. That leaves only the two guards. Tommy is downstairs by the door so if Jim’s fast enough he should be able to knock out Jerry before Tommy gets upstairs. Granny is distracted with Leonard for the moment,  she’s looking at him almost lovingly, as if he was another of her grandsons, insane, all of this is insane.  It might be Jim’s only chance.

“Hey, psst, Jerry,” Jim stage-whispers at the guard, “Can I ask you something? I don’t wanna interrupt them.” He nods towards Granny and Leonard. Jerry narrows his eyes but grunts and turns towards Jim to indicate that he’s listening.

“So, I was wondering,” Jim lowers his voice even more, “Looks like it’s only Granny, you and Tommy here, huh? Is this like a family business? And do you take new people? I could be useful.” Jerry frowns at him, Jim can practically hear the gears shifting in his monkey brain. 

“No, there’s also uncle Pete and uncle Mikey but they’re out hunting right now.”

Jim barely manages to keep a straight face. “So, do you take new people, Jerry?” he repeats patiently.

“Jerry!” Granny’s voice suddenly cuts through the air and the guard jumps, eyes immediately drifting over to her. Like a good, obedient little henchman. 

The distraction is all Jim needs, it’s now or never. He’s still standing close enough to Jerry, so he brings his knee up lightning fast and rams it right between the guard’s legs. It’s a cheap trick but it’s effective and as soon as Jerry doubles over in pain Jim goes for the shotgun. Granny has already started  screaming like a banshee,  they don’t have a lot of time. 

Jim pulls the gun away from Jerry’s shoulder but he didn’t expect him to suddenly turn sideways to try to keep Jim away from it. Jim’s hand makes contact with the trigger and obviously the safety was off. The gun fires with a loud crack. 

Sharp pain shoots through Jim’s right shoulder and his whole body curls sideways reflexively. He does have the shotgun now, though, so he quickly pumps it to reload and turns to face Jerry, who’s still doubled over. Gritting his teeth through the pain in his shoulder and without thinking twice about it, Jim shoots. Jerry’s body hits the floor with a final thud. 

A scream coming from the hallway rips Jim from his short-timed stupor. He thanks the heavens that the shotgun has a magazine and hopes to god that it still has a round in it when he reloads the weapon. It does and so he points it towards the doorway. Behind him Granny starts to scream for Tommy to look out but it’s too late, Jim step outside into the hallway, aims the gun and shoots as soon as the beefy figure of the guard rounds the corner. Another thud, then, silence.

In the momentary quiet all Jim can hear is the pounding of his own blood in his ears, the place where the shotgun pellets hit his shoulder throbs painfully. Then the screaming starts again, it’s actually more of a wailing sound but Jim doesn’t have time to try and make out what Granny is yelling because suddenly Leonard is behind him, shoving him out of the door.

“We need to leave! Now!” Jim doesn’t have to be told twice, he slings the gun over his uninjured shoulder and follows Leonard down the hall and out of the front door.

It’s morning outside, the sun is still hanging low on the horizon and cicadas are chirping in the tall grass. Jim turns around briefly to look at the place, they’d been in a small, shabby farmhouse. Leonard has already rounded the corner of the house and is yelling for Jim to hurry up. A banged up VW Caddy is parked on the side of the house.

Leonard gets into the driver’s seat and the passenger door slams, his fingers are numb as he fiddles with the ignition. Thank God most people simply leave the keys to get away faster in case of an emergency. 

The car finally starts and he’s about to shift it into gear as his conscience catches up with him. What the fuck are they doing? “We have to get them out of there.”

“What?” Jim gapes at him.

“The other people in the house, we have to help them.”

They look at each other for a solid minute, Leonard’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Jim thinks how this moment is probably that one fork in the road. His shoulder is killing him but he saw that enormous freezer and he doesn’t want those people to end up on its shelves in pieces. A loud, visceral scream coming from the house cuts through the silence. That old lady produces the weirdest sounds Jim has ever heard. 

“Okay, but we have to get out of here before the rest of the mentally challenged men eating vandals come back. Because there are more and  that old hag screams so loudly she can be heard all the way to fucking Alaska.”

  
  


She shuts up immediately when Jim steps into the room. 

“What’s up, Granny?” Jim asks but she just looks at him, her mouth open, breathing heavily, and it seems like her ability to speak is gone. 

She hasn’t moved an inch since the last time Jim saw her. She probably can’t walk, he realizes, she’s just an old and helpless woman who keeps a group of innocent people in her basement to sell them as meat. He walks past her and her grandson’s still body. It’s even worse now that it’s quiet in the room. Jim can finally see the details of the interior, like flowery patterns on the wallpaper, faded pieces of china on the cabinet and spiderwebs in the dusty fireplace. Once this place was a cozy living room. 

“Hey buddy,” Jim says, quietly leaning over Andy, but the guy doesn’t move. 

“He’s dead, Jim.” 

Jim almost jumps when he hears Leonard’s husky voice. “I just wanted to—”

“Ask him something about that poster?” 

“Check if he’s still alive.” Jim straightens his back and turns around to look Leonard in the eyes. 

“He’s not.” He looks away. “I got the other people out. We have to go.” 

Leonard’s voice is weirdly calm and Jim knows for sure the guy doesn’t believe him, not in the slightest. Jim wouldn’t believe himself either. There’s so much blood everywhere, even the air is sticky and it leaves a salty taste on his lips; he feels dizzy. He’s seen dead people before, oh so many, and he killed some, too, but this time it’s different somehow. 

The old lady’s just watching them silently as they walk out of the room. 


	5. Map of your head

They’re driving in silence. Jim just looks straight ahead through the window, not saying a word. It’s strange, Leonard thinks, because all the way from that store in Baxley to the place where he lost his van under tragic circumstances, and during that hell of a bike ride, his passenger wouldn’t stop talking. Not even for a minute. And now, he didn’t even ask where they were going and that’s what concerns Leonard the most.

This time he’s trying to avoid the main road, just in case, especially since he knows for sure that during this time of the year the area is flooded with collectors. The good ol’ South is still great because they can always find fruit here thanks to the warmer climate. Healthy lifestyle, whether you like it or not. Basic agriculture has mostly been completely destroyed, it took no longer than two years. Mother Nature is not exactly generous when there’s no one to keep the trees in check.

The sole fact that they were lucky enough to stumble upon a family of cannibals in the Peach State speaks volumes. They’re on the verge of a famine and it’s only going to get worse. Still it’s better than the North. Everything is better than the North. 

Leonard can already see that soon he’ll have to say goodbye to his lovely hideout, at least for some time. Because if there is something consistent in this new world it’s that people will always bring the hordes of Infected with them. 

Of course, there are less and less people every year. Only the Dead are increasing their population at an alarming rate. What are they going to do when there are no more people left? 

Nothing, Leonard thinks gloomily. Wander the empty earth; hungry, insane, until they’re out of energy. Then they will probably lay on the ground, glaring at empty skies, aghast. He had the dubious pleasure to watch the Infected locked in a cage for several months. For three months straight they’d just throw themselves at walls in their undrainable rage. They become slower without food though. But they don’t die. They don’t die, even with their vital organs removed. This damn virus simply broke the evolution code and gifted them survivability, almost immortality if you want.

Leonard frowns. It’s just a nightmare, a never ending nightmare. Even if they find a way to defeat the virus, what’s the point? The world will never be the same. But that doesn’t mean he’ll ever stop trying. It just means that with that way of thinking he’s likely to drive himself crazy really soon. 

He throws a quick glance at his passenger. “You’re suspiciously quiet.”

“There’s no use in asking you questions, you never answer them anyway,” Jim says with a sigh. He throws a quick smile at Leonard but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Try again maybe.” 

Jim looks at him suspiciously. “Okay,” he says slowly, ”let’s try then. First of all, can you enlighten me, what posters was Andy talking about?” 

“I seriously have no clue.” Leonard shrugs. 

“He wasn’t lying, he knew your name.” 

“I know.” 

“So what the hell is going on?” Jim feels his blood starting to boil. His shoulder stings, a lot, but now he has twice as many reasons not to trust his fellow traveler and not to show him his weakness. Maybe it’s just a scratch. Oh, who is he trying to fool, it hurts like hell.

“I don’t know,” Leonard drawls, half questioningly. And it’s true. Well, almost. He knew they were looking for him, but he was genuinely surprised that some random civilian knew about it. And if this doesn’t provide him with some new and very exciting prospects. If, before that he had to duck out of sight from every hint of camouflage and people with even a vague air of military gear, now he has to hide from every shadow. 

With an annoyed huff, Jim slaps the glove box and it opens up abruptly. He examines its contents just to entertain himself somehow. Predictably he finds some old rag, a sporting knife with a folding blade and, to his mild surprise, a pistol.

“Oh, sweet.” He takes it out of the compartment, it seems strangely light and has two barrels on top of another. “Huh…” He turns it over carefully.

“That’s a tranq gun.”

“What?”

“A tranquilizer gun. Non-lethal.”

“Oh, well that’s not very useful in the apocalypse. But just what you expect to find in a cannibal’s car.” Jim laughs wryly and puts the gun away again. He quickly shuts up though, the movement only made his shoulder hurt more. He inconspicuously glances at it out of the corner of his eye and reaches up to tentatively touch the area. He flinches. _ Definitely _ not just a scratch. Luckily the color and fabric of his jacket do a good job of hiding the injury. 

“Something wrong?” Leonard’s question startles Jim. 

“Nah, just got a bit of a scratch on my arm. Nothing bad.”

“Hm.”

Jim takes a moment to look Leonard over. He is very pale but doesn’t seem hurt in any way. The muscles in his jaw tick and he’s gripping the steering wheel tightly. The collar of his thin sweater is soaked through and beads of sweat cling to his forehead even though it’s not overly hot in the car. 

“Are _ you _okay?”

Leonard glances at him, “‘m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. I mean, you look _ fine,” _Jim winks, even though it’s totally lost on Leonard because he doesn’t look at him, “if you catch my drift, but I think you know what I mean.” Leonard just shrugs and the fact that he doesn’t tell Jim off for his untimely and inappropriate innuendo only serves to make Jim even more suspicious of his travel partner’s current state.

“So… where are we going?” Jim doesn’t really expect a precise or even honest answer but it can’t hurt to try and ask.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“Well that’s reassuring.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t go through the trouble of driving you places just to murder you there in the end.” It seems almost like an attempt at humor on Leonard’s side but it’s completely ruined by the car suddenly swerving to the right and almost in a ditch. Leonard flinches hard and steers the car back onto the road. Jim sees him blinking hard and shake his head lightly.

“Uh, not to y’know, question your self-assessment on your current condition but do you want me to drive maybe? It’s just that I’d rather not die in a car accident on an empty road of all things, during a zombie apocalypse. There are thousands of funnier and less stupid ways to die.”

“I said I’m fine,” Leonard huffs but not even he sounds convinced by his words. 

“Okay okay, whatever you say. Can you stop anyway? I gotta take a leak.” It’s not even a complete lie, he kind of has to piss. 

Leonard side-eyes him but he pulls to the side of the road (it’s completely out of habit, Jim still does it as well, even though there are never any other drivers around) and stops. He crosses his arms and leans back. “Hurry up.”

Jim rolls his eyes and steps around the caddy to not be in immediate eyesight of the other. They can at least try to keep up a sense of privacy. He looks around a bit, the sun hangs high in the sky and it’s pretty hot. One of those days you’d usually spend with friends at the beach, but those times are long gone. 

They’re a bit off the main road but not too far, the area around them is mostly plains and deep green, overgrown woods. There’s no one in sight, not even abandoned cars. The chirring of the cicadas is the only sound besides the rustling of wind in the trees further away. If it wasn’t the end of the world, Jim would say it’s very peaceful. 

He steps back around the car, ready to tell Leonard that he should take a break and that he, Jim, can drive for a while but as he gets to the passenger side he’s met with Leonard fast asleep. 

“Great,” Jim mumbles. He musters his companion for a moment, even asleep the frown never seems to leave his face. He really does have to admit, though, that earlier wasn’t just some shameless, senseless flirting on Jim’s side - Leonard really does look fine. Even with greasy hair, dirty clothes and exhaustion written all over his face.

“Hey,” Jim carefully shakes Leonard’s shoulder. As expected the other flinches hard before sitting up straight, looking around frantically. 

“Shh, it’s just me. You fell asleep. Now move over and tell me where to go. I’m not dying in a car because you’re too out of it to drive.”

Leonard opens his mouth as if to protest but a whole body shudders runs through him and seems to convince him otherwise. 

“Fine.” He says reluctantly and scoots over the console to the passenger side and Jim gets behind the wheel. “Just… keep going down the road for now.”

Jim nods and starts the car, he instinctively goes to shift it into gear and winces as sharp pain radiates from his shoulder down his arm. He glances at Leonard but luckily he doesn’t seem to have noticed.

Throughout their drive Jim keeps throwing glances at Leonard. 

“Dude, you look like you’re about to keel over…”

Leonard blinks hard and his eyes seem to take a moment until they focus on Jim. “It’s nothing. I just need some sleep, is all.”

Jim just hums and keeps driving.

It’s a very quiet drive, just occasionally interrupted by Leonard mumbling at Jim where to drive next. They keep close to the mainroad for a while but then they take a turn and end up in an overgrown foresty area. They’ve been on the road for just over three hours at that point.

“Drive over there,” Leonard says and point towards a cluster of trees and shrubs.“My last car was smaller but it’ll just have to fit.” Leonard’s grumbling has gotten so quiet over the last few hours that Jim has trouble understanding him now.

“Pull up into the bushes there, does an alright job of concealing the car.” Jim does as he’s told, cringing a bit as branches scratch along the caddy’s sides and roof. Once they’re parked he gets out of the car and waits for Leonard to do the same. It takes the other man a lot longer than it should and as he catches Jim’s look he repeats “I’m fine.”

“You know, you’ve said that about ten times but it convinces me even less now than it did three hours ago.”

Leonard just grinds his teeth and slams the car door shut, then he starts walking through the bushes, Jim following close behind. They step through thorns and tall grass and as Leonard pushes aside the branches of a tree Jim catches the first glance of the back wall of an old farmhouse.

As most of their surroundings, the house, too, is completely overgrown and looks ready to collapse any second. Jim can’t imagine that it got into a shape this bad over the last three years alone. It must have been abandoned for a while before earth became hell. The paint on the outside boards is almost completely flaked off, the glass of the windows Jim can see is shattered and half the roof has come down.

“This place looks… haunted.”

“It’s not as bad inside,” Leonard says, voice hoarse, “just don’t go upstairs or you might break through the floor.”

“Right.” 

Although the front door looks like it’s about to come off any minute, there’s a rusty padlock on it, so grotesquely huge, the sight of it makes Jim chuckle. To his surprise Leonard just takes the lock off and throws it aside. 

“Why do you even need this thing?”

“For aesthetics,” Leonard replies grumpily. “There’s no electricity, I’ll get the generator running later. No water in the house, there might be rainwater in the barrels in the backyard,” he mumbles, out of breath, as they’re walking into what seems to be a dark living room. “Don’t drink it. Actually, try to stay inside, just in case.”

“Wait, are you going somewhere?” 

“I need to do something.” It takes one really long suspicious look on Jim’s side for Leonard to quietly add “I need to sleep, okay? Not feeling well.” He almost looks guilty for saying it.

“I see. But you know, we need to discuss our sleeping schedule. You seem a bit privileged right now. I want to sleep, too. Sometimes. Just saying.”

Leonard sighs tiredly and Jim bites his tongue. He doesn’t look good at all. Sure, Jim doesn’t feel great either but Leonard looks half-dead. His face is incredibly pale, it actually took on that dangerous bluish shade and his sweater is soaked with sweat.

“Make yourself at home,” Leonard eventually breathes out, turns on his heels and disappears through the door in the back of the room, leaving Jim standing there alone in silence. It’s late afternoon and orange light from outside floods the room, casting blue shadows on shabby walls, Jim can see each and every fleck of dust spinning in the air. 

“Well, fuck.” Jim rubs his face in exhaustion and winces when sharp pain shoots through his shoulder as if he’s been shot once again. Driving didn’t help it at all, it hurts like a bitch and he knows he has to take care of it before it gets worse.

He takes off his jacket and throws it over a nearby moth-eaten couch to assess the damage. His shirt is soaked through with blood around the shoulder. Jim pushes the short sleeve up carefully, flinching in pain as he peels the fabric away from the wound. The dried blood basically fused the shirt to his arm. Great. 

He twists sideways to get a better look at it but the angle is too awkward so he walks out of the room and into the hall in search for the bathroom. He quickly finds it and, surprise surprise, the mirror on the cabinet there is broken. There are still enough shards, though, that he can see what he’s dealing with. The wound looks nasty, a few of the pellets definitely hit him good and seem to still be imbedded in his flesh. Jim grimaces, he needs to clean this somehow. Water is out of the question, there’s none in the house and rainwater is too dirty. He doesn’t want to use any of their bottled water either, it's too valuable.

So Jim opens the bathroom cabinet in a futile attempt to maybe find a bottle of disinfectant or something similar. Of course there isn’t any, but he finds tweezers. They looks fairly clean. There’s also a roll of bandages.

“This is gonna suuuuck.” He groans and turns his side to the broken mirror again, tweezers in his left hand. He takes a deep breath.

It doesn’t take more than a few tries for Jim to know that he can't do it like this. He can barely see what he’s doing, his hand starts shaking as soon as he gets the metal close to the open wound, and the pain that radiates through him as he tries to get to the pellets almost makes him sick. He drops the tweezers into the sink in defeat.

“Fuck.” Brilliant, now he’s left with a still dirty wound that throbs even more than before. Bandaging it like that won’t do any good either. He walks back out of the bathroom and starts exploring the house a bit, still in search for something to clean the wound with.

He ends up in front of the door Leonard disappeared into, it’s actually not closed, the wood of the frame looks so warped it probably doesn’t even shut properly anymore. So, because Jim is Jim, he carefully pushes the door open and eyes around the corner. Leonard didn’t actually tell him to stay out anyway.

What he finds is neither unexpected nor very interesting. The room is mostly empty, there’s just an old dresser standing against one water-damaged wall and a bed with a ratty mattress. Well, and Leonard. He’s lying on the bed, fast asleep, he didn’t even take off his shoes, just his sleeves are rolled up to his upper arms. Jim watches him for a moment, then he steps through the door and quietly walks over to the bedside. He feels slightly creepy but he has the sudden urge to make sure that Leonard is actually still breathing.

He’s lying on his side, expression slack, hands curled into loose fists, and, yes, he is breathing. Jim is just about to leave again when he notices what looks like a faded bruise starting below the crook of Leonard’s left elbow. He leans down to take a closer look, following the bruise upwards and that’s when he sees it. A cluster of tiny, red dots. Some almost completely faded, some still fairly new looking. It’s immediately clear to Jim what they are. His heart suddenly beats in his throat.

He wouldn’t have pegged Leonard for a junkie. He doesn’t seem the type. For some reason it makes Jim angry and sad at the same time. Now it also makes sense that Leonard looked sick as a dog but denied that anything was wrong with him. Withdrawal. Jim eyes the dresser. He’s pretty sure he knows what he’d find in the top drawer there.

Jim leaves the room then, expression somber. He needs a fucking drink. Both for his throbbing shoulder and his mind. Surely Leonard stashed some booze somewhere in this house. Everyone kept some liquor on them these days. Be it in their car, their temporary home or on their back. They all had some. Anything that could make you forget, even if just for a moment. Well, Leonard apparently had something better than alcohol.

Sulu would never miss an opportunity to throw a little party. Every time when he and Jim were on a mission... those were Jim’s favorite, to be quite honest. With Spock they’d just march through their designated area, dismal silence between them. Even when Spock wasn’t saying anything Jim could feel his silent disapproval. He’d also never send Jim out with Scotty or Chekov. Somehow, being away from Spock would encourage people to find their way to have fun and that would only end up with them getting dead drunk. Well, he’d especially not let Jim go with Chekov and not just because of the drinking… not after… Jim frowns. 

But Sulu always had something to lift up the mood, more fun than just booze, more relaxing, and he always knew how to choose the right moment and the right place. And while they were supposed to be hunting or looking for whatever equipment Spock wanted them to find, they’d always be back empty handed unless they were lucky enough to stumble upon some goods. Now thinking of that, Jim suspects that Spock probably knew why, and would send them on a mission just to give Jim some room to breathe. Back then, it would also make him angry. Fuck Spock.

The fun thing about Sulu is that Spock officially assigned him as the group’s navigator, despite the number of times they would end up in a completely different place instead of the one they planned for. However, he had that almost magical sense of direction that would lead him and Jim to some clearing in the middle of an overgrown forest. One that drowns in sunlight and the heavy bittersweet scent of meadow flowers, already intoxicating. They’d free their hair and clothes from thorns and dust, and then fall into the grass. They’d trip away holding hands – false sense of security. They’d kiss and laugh, and kiss again – false sense of togetherness. They knew they were wasting time, but time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time. That’s what Sulu would say, handing Jim a joint. 

They’d never do anything as stupid as shooting up. That shit is for goners. 

Jim walks into what seems to have been the living room, now it was mostly just garbage. He looks around for a bit, opens cabinet doors and drawers but finds nothing. He huffs in annoyance. He’d check the dresser in the bedroom but he doesn’t want to risk waking up Leonard. 

After scouring the house for a little longer (he doesn’t risk going upstairs, half the stairs are rotted away) he sits down on a couch heavily and sighs. There’s a door leading to the basement in the hall but it’s locked and Jim doesn’t feel like wasting any more energy on trying to open it. 

He just stares at nothing for a few minutes. It’s slowly getting dark outside and he can feel his own exhaustion catching up with him now that the adrenaline has faded from his system. But Jim also knows that he can’t just sleep now, it would be reckless. Besides, the pain in his shoulder probably wouldn’t let him get any rest anyway. If only he still had his pills… now they were just rotting in his nice car in that parking lot.

Jim sits up abruptly. Car! They do have a car, and a big one at that! Neither of them actually thought to check the back yet and it’s a caddy so there could be quite a few things there.

So Jim gets up and walks back out of the house the way they came in, through the bushes and thorns and tall grass. He pulls open the caddy’s back door to find it mostly empty except for a backpack on the floor close to the driver’s seat. Jim climbs inside and drags the bag out to look at it in the dim lights. It’s not very big, kind of torn and doesn’t seem to have a lot inside but who knows. He pulls open a zipper and finds - a bottle!

“Aha!” It’s a glass bottle, about two thirds filled with a clear liquid. The label says that it’s vodka. It seems to be Jim’s lucky day. He twists the cap open to smell the stuff. Definitely vodka. Jackpot!

Jim screws the cap back on for the moment and puts the bottle down on the floor of the car to take another look inside the backpack. There’s a small box of matches, a flashlight and some rags, ripped into strips. The matchbox is almost empty, it only has four matches left. The flashlight doesn’t turn on as Jim tries it but there are batteries inside, they might just be empty.

After making sure that there’s nothing else left in the car, Jim puts the stuff back into the bag, takes it and closes the car door again. He makes his way back into the house, hesitating briefly in front of the bedroom door before he chooses to ignore it and drops back down on the ratty couch in the once-living room. He pulls the bottle back out.

“Cheers!” Jim toasts to the silence around him and takes a swig. He shudders, vodka was never his favorite and this stuff doesn’t seem very high quality, however it is high-proof so he reaches into the backpack again to get the rags.

“Let’s do this then, huh?” Jim gets up with the bottle and strips of fabric in hand and walks back over to the bathroom. He pushes the sleeve of his shirt out of the way, leans over the dirty sink and grits his teeth. 

Jim bites through the pained scream that wants to force its way out of his throat as the vodka hits the wound. His eyes tear up and he breathes heavily through his nose. In and out, in and out. He’s had worse. Maybe. 

Once he deems the wound flushed out enough (which, to be fair, is very soon after the first of the alcohol hit the flesh) Jim lifts the bottle back up to his lips. Fuck this. He swallows and looks at the trails of bloody vodka that run down his arm and into the chipped sink. Then he takes the makeshift bandages and tries to wrap himself up as best as he can, which isn’t very good. Try wrapping your own shoulder with you non-dominant hand. 

Afterwards he just stands in the bathroom for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror shards. He blinks hard, once, twice, but the image doesn’t change. He sighs and takes another mouthful of shitty vodka. 

Jim leaves the bathroom, sits down on the couch again and stares some more. The level of vodka in the bottle is rapidly sinking. He knows he really shouldn’t get shitfaced while he’s on watch, so to speak, but he doesn’t care. Leonard just went and claimed the sleeping shift, leaving Jim in unfamiliar territory. 

He gets back up again eventually, wobbling briefly as the alcohol catches up with him now that he’s standing upright. He wanders around the house aimlessly again for a while and suddenly spots a cabinet behind some boxes that he didn’t see before. He crouches down in front of it, prying the doors open. The hinges squeak and Jim pulls a face at the sound. 

The cabinet holds a bunch of books, all stacked neatly on top of each other, sorted by size. And an array of bottles. 

“You motherfucker!” Jim slurs and plops down on his ass on the floor. He pulls the bottles out of the cabinet, holding them against the light to read the labels. Whiskey, good whiskey. All of it. He uncorks one of the bottles and inhales the slightly sweet and oaky smell. He takes a sip; it’s strong and smooth and warms his throat all the way down to his stomach. Definitely good stuff.

Jim puts the other bottles back into the cabinet but keeps the whiskey he opened, then he pulls out the books. They look strangely out of place, most of the stuff in the house is broken, water-damaged or just rotted away. These books, however, are in very good condition. The spines are cracked so they have definitely been read but they’ve been cared for. Jim fans out a few of the books on his lap, they’re all medical. Anatomy, nervous system, some scientific research on cancer… 

Jim flips one of the books open and finds the imprint, it was issued by the University of Mississippi. He’s pretty sure they aren’t in Mississippi. As he thumbs through the pages he finds quite a few passages highlighted. The books seem to have belonged to a med student. 

Jim grabs the cancer research, the whiskey bottle and returns to his couch. At least now he can get shitfaced with something to read. 

\---

Leonard wakes up in a cold sweat.

There’s no need to open his eyes and look around, he already knows what those sounds mean. He knows where he is, and he knows exactly what’s going on. 

He’s in a white room, with the lights always on because they want to watch him, especially at this moment. His whole body flinches but he won’t open his eyes. 

A funny thing he’s noticed – sometimes the Infected would completely ignore the living, even if they were only a couple of feet away. Well, when the living don’t move and don’t have open, bleeding wounds. It’s an oddity he couldn’t find any reasonable, logical or scientifically proven explanation for. They don’t know either. Not that they’re exactly open to share their ideas with him. Not anymore. After his last attempt they always chain him to the bed during nighttime. 

What’s going on now is just an act of pure torture, that’s all. They don’t need to do it this way, not since they discovered that blood injections work just as well, if not better. The test results are way more conclusive. But they’re angry. Nothing seems to work anymore and it’s driving them mad. They’re taking it out on him. Because he tried to break away. 

He feels weakness in his entire body, like cotton-wool it wraps around him, like a warm blanket and it grows from inside him. Good ol’ anemia. He could spend an eternity like this – lying here, motionless, contemplating if there’s a way to get the Infected to tear the right vein and finish him for good. 

It moves closer, halting, slowly. Here you go, it’s come to its senses. One sense, the only one it has – the hunger. Leonard jumps to his feet. He can’t go far, his right wrist is handcuffed to the metal post of the crappy bed. The sound of it grinding against the floor fills the room, it echoes off the tiles, clangorous, ugly. He presses himself to the wall, into the wall. 

It’s a girl, again, short and thin. They keep the strong ones away from him, as if they could hear the dangerous thoughts buzzing in his head. He examines her briefly, out of habit. Her face is blue and she has no lips, her bare feet lack some toes. A black crop-top reveals her stomach, covered in dried, clotted blood. He can see blackened ribs through the torn skin. Damn idiots, it’s totally useless. She can’t be more than a hundred pounds, too badly damaged. It’ll take seconds. 

His blood, or what’s left of it, is pounding in his ears, in his temporal veins, the jugular vein, and he knows there’s only seconds left. She attacks him. 

Instinct takes over and Leonard covers his face with his arms. Fucking coward. That’s his last thought. Fucking coward. 


	6. Numb in this kingdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We want to thank all the people reading the story and leaving kudos and comments! You are our favorite superheroes! 
> 
> (Also bonus points to those who caught the various music references)

And then Leonard wakes up. 

“I wanted to be an astronaut, like my old man,” Jim blurts out. Some time during the early morning hours he’d relocated to the bedroom, too wasted to give a shit anymore. He never enjoyed drinking alone. “Not that I knew him, but you know, people would say he was a good man.” 

“Right.” Leonard sits up on the bed, stretches and yawns. No matter how dreadful his dream was, he’s not ready to face reality just yet. He shakes his hands a bit just to assure himself that he’s free. “I thought you’re from Iowa. Born and raised. Didn’t know they launch from cornfields.” 

“They don’t. My mother moved there when my father died. Which, by the way, happened exactly the day I was born. Cheers!” Jim salutes him with a bottle which Leonard immediately identifies as his best whiskey. 

“That’s… I’m sorry,” he says quietly but it seems like the guy doesn’t even hear him. 

“I get it, y’know,” Jim slurs, head rolling sideways onto his shoulder. He glances up at Leonard, then he looks very pointedly to the crook of his elbow. “Back in my car, the one we left in the parking lot, I had a nice bottle of pills. Good stuff, real good, my friend gave it to me. He knows shit. If you take one it makes you feel invincible. Thought about just taking them all, y’know, because what’s the use, right? The world is doomed anyway.” He smiles and closes his eyes. “Couldn’t do it, too scared. Which is fucking bullshit because I’m James T. Kirk, not scared of anything.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “All I’m sayin’ is,” he opens his eyes again and looks at Leonard, “that I get it, that you’re shooting up. It’s hardcore, dude, but I get it.” He waves his hand vaguely. “Whatever keeps us going, or more numb, I guess…” 

Leonard blinks twice and immediately drags his sleeves back down his arms. Not that it’s any use anymore. His head is pounding and his right hand is numb. Amazing. Sometimes you just can’t shake off the feeling that you woke up from a nightmare to another even worse one. But this is definitely not a dream within a dream. His new fellow is right there, on the floor by the wall, and he’s real, and he’s wasted. The smell of booze is strong in the small room, and the guy, Jim, is the source of it, obviously. 

What’s wrong with him? He seemed so buoyant just yesterday. Where is his bulletproof confidence now? He’s a mess, his hair is disheveled and his lips look blood red on his pale face. 

“How old are you, James T. Kirk?” 

Jim looks at him in surprise, eyes wide open and so fucking blue in the cold light of the morning. Leonard never asked him anything before. “Twenty, I think? Yeah, you said it’s June 2016, but what’s the use in counting anymore?” 

It’s not even sadness he feels, it’s an apathy that takes over him. After all, in his dream just now Leonard’s subconsciousness was hinting in such vivid ways that he’d better give up. But Jim is different. At least Leonard thought so. What’s wrong with everything now? 

But then Leonard has to remind himself that he shouldn’t even care. As Jim so nicely put it, the word is doomed anyway. 

“I see you went looking through my things here while I was sleeping,” Leonard stresses the last word. 

“Yes I did, I explored the place. And let me tell you, it’s a fucking hellhole. I don’t even think it’s safe here. You have a nice whiskey collection, though. And those books,” Jim lifts up the cancer research, “are they yours?” 

“Yes, is there a problem with that?” 

“So you’re like a doctor?” 

“Well, I didn’t finish med school because, you know, the world went to shit, but I studied for four years.” 

“Nice, so maybe you can help me with this.” Jim winces as he straightens up. He clumsily puts the bottle aside, but as he takes his hand away it tips over and Leonard watches in horror as his best whiskey soaks through the withered wooden floor. Jim doesn’t even notice. “Look at this.” 

Leonard sighs and looks at it. It’s a blood soaked bandage on Jim’s shoulder. Leonard jumps off the bed and leans over Jim. 

“Dammit man, when did this happen?” 

“Yesterday, in the house. That Jerry guy shot me when I tried to take the shotgun. Well, it was only a graze shot, otherwise I probably wouldn’t be sitting here now. I used some shitty vodka I found in the caddy to clean the wound a bit.” 

“Right. Because that’s what you do when you get shot?! You spill some vodka on it and get wasted? For crying out loud, kid, why didn’t you tell me?” 

“You know why.” 

Leonard knows why. Even though he somehow managed to accept the idea of having a companion, he still can’t fully trust him. Maybe it’s time. 

“Come with me,” Leonard sighs and gets up. For a second he hesitates but then he holds out his hand for Jim to grab to get off the floor. The other seems genuinely surprised and Leonard would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt a little. Well, it was his own fault.

“Where to?” Jim asks, he’s a bit unsteady on his feet.

“... basement.”

“Ohh, you don’t invite  _ everyone  _ to your basement, do you? I saw the door. You actually did lock that one.”

“I did.” Leonard leeds them to the door, pulls a small key out of his jeans pocket and unlocks it. He fumbles for the light switch but nothing happens when he clicks it. “Right. Wait here for a second.” Leonard steps down the stairs, one hand on the wall.

Jim waits, it takes more than a second, but eventually the light flickers on.

“Okay, come down. But please don’t fall and break your neck.” Leonard’s voice echoes up to him. 

“I’ll try my best,” Jim giggles and makes his way down the stairs. He’s unsteady but manages. “Woah, so  _ that’s  _ where you actually hole up, huh?” Jim looks around. There’s a small room to the side, it definitely holds the power generator, going by the noises coming from it. The rest of the basement is open plan as far as Jim can tell. There are two tables pushed against the sides, in a corner is a bed, it’s in much better shape than the one upstairs. 

“Sit and take off your shirt.” Leonard instructs and pushes Jim towards the bed before he starts digging through a cabinet. 

“I like where this is going.” Jim says, suggestive grin audible in his voice. He does as he’s told, carefully pulling his shirt over his head. Then he looks around some more. It’s hard to focus his eyes, he’s been awake for so long and he’s drunk as hell. His stomach hurts from the lack of food but surplus of alcohol. 

“You’re a damn idiot.” Leonard grouches. He sets a small metal bowl with a forceps, a bottle and some wound dressing down besides Jim on the bed and sits next to him. Jim watches him intently, or as intently as he can manage in his current state, so he doesn’t miss the way Leonard’s eyes flicker over his bare torso. Jim knows, objectively, that he does look good, sure he’s seen better days but everyone has.

“Or so people have said,” he singsongs. “I’m pretty sure there are a few shot pellets in the wound. Couldn’t get them out.” He shrugs with his good shoulder. 

“Hold still, will ya?!” Leonard leans over him, forceps in hand. “This is gonna hurt.”

“I know,” Jim says cheerfully. “Just be quick.”

“I’ll try.”

It hurts, it really does, but Jim tries his best to not flinch to spare himself any more pain. He kinda sucks at it, though. 

“Dammit Jim, stop twitching!” Leonard’s voice is stern but calm. Jim looks at him in awe. 

“You said my name.” The guy almost beams. His mood swings honestly confuse Leonard to no end. Sometimes Jim’s all shiny and just won’t shut up, sometimes he’s gloomy and quiet, and honestly it’s tiring. Leonard admires consistency. He, himself, for example, is consistently in a bad mood, but at least he’s predictable.

“I say your name all the time.”

“No, you don’t. That was the first time you called me Jim.”

“You’re disgustingly honest and sincere when you’re drunk, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You’re also not very observant. I called you Jim before.” Why he even kept track of that is beyond him. 

“I am observant though, for example I noticed that you don’t know how to enjoy fuck all. If your idea of fun is to… you know. What’s all that whiskey for?” 

Leonard purses his lips. “Emergencies.”

“Right,” Jim replies, pointedly rolling the R. 

There’s a clinking sound and Jim watches as Leonard drops one, two, three small shotgun pellets into the bowl. 

“I think that’s all of them.” He grabs the bottle and starts disinfecting the wound before he puts some gauze on it and tapes wound dressing over it. “It’s not really bleeding so this will have to do, otherwise I’d have to bandage half your torso.”

Jim hums. “Your hands feel really nice.” Leonard’s expression darkens. “Hey, what’s with the frowny face? It’s a compliment. You’re like a real doctor. Real sawbones.” He smiles brightly at Leonard.

“You’re drunk.”

“And you,” Jim pokes him in the chest, “need a nickname and I just thought of the best one ever.”

“I don’t wanna know. I don’t have friends to call me by a nickname, hence I don’t need a nickname.”

“I am your friend. And yes, you do. Your actual name even got you in trouble already.”

That seems to shut Leonard up. He actually takes a moment of silence in remembrance of Andy, he was a slick guy, for sure, but still. To his credit, despite being drunk Jim actually makes sense. 

“Besides,  _ Leonard  _ is way too old for you.”

“Because  _ James  _ is such a young name,” Leonard says in defense.

“Shut up, it’s timeless and no one calls me James anyway.”

“You did.”

“Doesn’t matter what I do.” Jim is still looking at him with a wide smile.

“You’re too drunk to deal with.” 

“You just need to catch up.” 

Leonard only sighs in response, but it actually sounds like a good idea for a change. He lost his equipment and samples when they got captured, now he genuinely has no clue what to do and where to head next. Maybe he really needs a shot of whiskey or two. He glances at Jim’s sunshine smile. Maybe he needs half a bottle. “What’s the nickname?” 

\---

“So, Bones… what are we gonna do now?”

“Don’t call me that.” Leonard grumbles but there’s no heat behind it. They’d relocated upstairs, Leonard got another bottle of whiskey and now they’re sitting on the living room couch. Jim’s wearing a shirt again, one of the shitty ones that was left in the house. It smells like dust, like everything around them. It also looks like a pile of dust. It feels like home.

Jim had slowed down on the alcohol a bit, which was probably a good thing. It also made it easier for Leonard to catch up. Not that  _ that  _ was a good thing. “Did you sleep while I was out?” Leonard asks, choosing to ignore Jim’s question. Not that he even has an answer.

“Nah,” Jim yawns demonstratively, “Well, I think I might have dozed off for a few minutes.” 

“Maybe you should go to bed then.” 

“Very generous offer but I’d rather watch you getting drunk.” 

Leonard considers asking him why for a second but then just shrugs and takes another sip. He’s had weird days before but never before did he start a day with whiskey. “Yeah, watch me.” He’s also had companions before. Sort of. But never did it feel so baffling. Leonard really needs to take a moment to think about it more. Not now, obviously. Now he really needs to get really drunk. He lost everything, again, but at least he’s in a safe place. And the sun is still shining through broken windows, warm on his cheeks, golden in Jim’s hair. 

He should probably make an effort and treat the guy better, after all he got them food, and he saved his life, and other people’s lives for that matter. He’s a good guy. Young and insolent, cocky and, well, flirty at inappropriate times, but that’s a facade, obviously. As if Jim can hear his thoughts and wants to annoy him more he pulls out a cigarette pack and fiddles with it for a while, muttering curses as he’s trying to fish out one stick with his left hand. For a second Leonard feels bad for him. For a second. 

“Can you just not?” Leonard wrinkles his nose. In advance. 

“Actually, I can’t. Cigs reduce hunger.” 

“They also  _ pro _ duce cancer.” 

“Well, you’re a doctor, you know better, but I’m not going to live forever anyway.” Jim finally manages to pull out one cigarette so he lets out a whoop. He lights up and blows a little cloud towards the grey ceiling. He looks so calm now it almost makes Leonard smile a loopy little smile. Almost.

“Do you like peaches?” he asks eventually. 

“Do you  _ have _ peaches?” Jim’s eyes widen in surprise. 

“We’re in Georgia for fucks sake. Didn’t you check the garden?” 

“There’s a garden? You told me to stay inside.” 

“Did you?” 

“No, but I—” 

“You were only motivated enough to get booze and watch me sleep, I get it. Stay here.” 

Jim rolls his eyes but obeys. He doesn’t feel like walking anywhere at all. He doesn’t feel like living. The ‘surgery’ has sobered him up a bit and his wound isn’t pounding anymore, which is good, but he’s still so exhausted. Last time he slept, he figures that was in that godforsaken cannibal basement. Not exactly voluntary or rejuvenating sleep, though. Not that any sleep at all would be rejuvenating nowadays. They’d all aged at least ten years in the three since the world went to shit. 

God, he’s so tired. Jim watches a fleck of dust sail down from the ceiling to the floor. It’s slow, oh so slow…

As Leonard returns, three mostly ripe peaches in hand, Jim is asleep on the couch. His head has tipped sideways against the backrest, the bottle of whiskey he hadn’t actually taken a sip from in hours, is hanging loosely from his limp fingers. 

Leonard sighs, he did feel kinda bad for just expecting Jim to stay up while he was out like a light but he had his reasons, okay? So now he puts the peaches down on a dusty cabinet and walks over to Jim. He crouches down in front of the couch. Should he shake him awake? Should he stare at him a little longer? Because it’s not creepy at all. Leonard sighs again. He doesn’t want to leave him up here while he goes down to the basement and besides, the bed downstairs is way more comfortable. Giving Jim some kinda restful sleep is the least he can do. 

“Jim?” Leonard shakes his good shoulder slightly. Jim blinks his eyes open, focuses on him briefly, smiles, and falls back asleep. The fact alone that he didn’t jerk up as Leonard shook him is testament to just how exhausted he is. 

“Guess that’s how it’s gonna be then, huh?” Leonard pulls the bottle from Jim’s fingers and sets it down on the floor, then he crouches down in front of him again. He wraps one arm around Jim’s back, the other he hooks under his knees.

“You know, you’re not exactly who I imagined I’d carry bridal style over door steps one day…” Leonard mumbles to the sleeping form in his arms. He tries not to overthink it.

There’s so much to overthink though and he’s drunk enough to dig himself deep, like Mariana trench kind of deep, in self loathing and desperation. He has a shitload of reasons to avoid any kind of contact with people, but here he is, carrying a living and breathing person to one of the last safe places on earth that he knows of. And this person looks so peaceful in his sleep, his eyelashes tremble lightly, and Leonard hates himself.

Of course carrying Jim down the stairs is another challenge on its own but he manages without breaking either of their necks. He’s actually kinda proud. 

Leonard wonders briefly what he should do while Jim’s catching up on much needed sleep. He himself doesn’t actually feel dead tired for the first time in weeks. Just a bit weary and kind of strange. Nothing feels real. And he’s not even that drunk. Should he risk getting another sample ready while Jim is just feet away? After all he lost everything on their little trip. 

His plan is, however, temporarily put on hold because as he puts the sleeping figure down on the basement bed Jim’s fingers suddenly close around his wrist and he tugs him down.

Leonard is so dumbstruck he just goes with it. Jim didn’t even open his eyes but that small smile is back on his lips. Leonard isn’t even sure if he’s not just dreaming. 

He doesn’t know how or even why, for God’s sake, he actually ends up next to Jim on the mattress. He’s so close to him that his eyes don’t even manage to focus on Jim’s face. His heart is in his throat and this shouldn’t be happening. There is so much on the line here. 

And yet, Leonard stays, if only for a little while. He can’t remember the last time he’s been in a situation like this. Close to another human like this. So warm, and true, and everything. Jim’s fingers around his wrist have gone limp again and he’s breathing evenly. Leonard scoots backwards a little and now he can see Jim’s eyes moving beneath closed lids. He’s dreaming. No one dreams well these days but Jim’s face is relaxed and without any trace of misery. 

It is, quite frankly, distressing.

“You’re confusing. You confuse me,” Leonard whispers. He spent so much time on his own, it’s no wonder he’s talking to himself. Talking to someone else is strange. He sighs, again, and by now he should be paid for sighing. In booze. Or food. Something useful. Money has absolutely no value whatsoever anymore. Nothing has. 

The samples can wait, he decides finally, and lets his body relax as much as possible. He needs to eat something besides whiskey first anyway. He feels tension in his neck and his shoulders, so he breathes in and breathes out, slowly letting it go. He could stay like this forever. He could even turn the lights off. 

\---

Leonard stares at the white ceiling. So white it hurts his eyes, and the light is always on. He hates this room. 

He knows it’s there. It’s not moving, it’s waiting. Leonard holds his breath. If he doesn’t move he can win some time. Time for what? 

Why won’t they leave him alone? It’s useless. They’ll never get what they want this way. They need to find a good one, with all its limbs and organs in place, and they should be content with blood injections for fucks sake. But they stubbornly keep torturing him instead. 

It’s a punishment. Last time he wouldn’t stop twitching and didn’t let her get the blood samples. He just wanted them to give him some rest, is that too much to ask? Nothing works anyway. He said that one hundred times but they won’t listen. They have to let him out. They never give him enough time to recover. His veins are overused. At the thought, he barely manages to hold back from scratching the crook of his elbow. It’s all just a big purple bruise and it’s itching mercilessly. And that’s not even mentioning his wrists, and his ankles. There are only so many spots on the human body where you can effectively draw blood. But they don’t want some. They want all of it; it’s a great pity that they need to keep him alive. He used to be part of the team, now he’s just a blood bag, and all thanks to his inability to keep his mouth shut. 

Leonard’s body flinches, he can’t help it, and the handcuff chain clinks. Of course. He lets out a moan. It moves and Leonard jumps off the bed. It’s a routine at this point, he’s not scared, not until he looks at it and gasps. Oh it’s a good one. 

It’s Jim, and his lips are blood red, and his eyes are cold blue, and his shoulder is torn into shreds - it’s a wonder his right arm is still attached to his body. Other than that he’s fine, Leonard notes, and that actually might work, finally.

He feels a knot tightening in his stomach and the weight of the world on his shoulders, he’s excited and terrified at the same time. He takes a step back to the wall as Jim moves towards him slowly. It’s weird that he can’t breathe now, as if his lungs collapsed, or the air got sucked out of the room and now it’s a perfect vacuum. He’s in space, cold and dead, like Jim’s lifeless eyes. James T. Kirk wanted to be an astronaut, like his father, now he’s dead, they’re all dead, but Leonard can fix it. It might work.


	7. No plan

“Good morning sleeping beauty. Well, actually it’s probably not morning.” Jim is propped up on his good arm, looking down at him. His hair is sticking up every which way. He’s so very much alive. Leonard groans and rubs a hand over his face. He lifts his arm to check the time.

“It’s four, guess that qualifies as morning.” It’s just amazing – he let himself fall asleep again and slept for ten more hours. Still, he feels washed out. They say the more you sleep the more tired you feel. That’s not his case.

“I guess it does. So, how did we end up here? Did you actually carry me downstairs?” Despite the usual carelessness of his words, Jim doesn’t look quite as cheerful as Leonard expected. “You alright?”

As usual, Jim asks too many questions.

Leonard hates sleeping with the lights on. First of all it isn’t satisfying at all. Further, studies have shown that light exposure during bedtime reduces sleep quality and cuts the production of melatonin, which can cause many negative health effects, one of them is increasing the relative risk for some types of cancer. Also, fuck this shit. He feels disoriented and shaken up, which is new. He got used to the nightmares a long time ago but this time it was different. It felt even more real than usual but … Jim was there.

“I’m fine,” Leonard grumbles eventually and, after a short pause, “You?”

Jim grimaces slightly, “Shoulder is acting up a bit and I’m apparently not used to copious amounts of alcohol anymore. Why are you looking at me like that? Did I do something stupid yesterday?”

He did. Well kind of. Leonard thinks of that small smile that appeared on Jim’s lips when he tugged him down on the bed with him. Maybe it was just something unconscious, like sleepwalking, in Jim’s case – sleepflirting. That’s just how the guy ticks, Leonard thinks. It’s something he’ll have to get used to.

“Was there ever a day when you  _ didn’t _ do something stupid?” Leonard sits up and yep, he too, can feel the oncoming headache of a whiskey hangover. So refreshing. “God, I’m too young to feel this shitty.”

“Given the circumstances we probably qualify as mid-thirty.”

Leonard huffs. “Lemme see your shoulder.”

“Why, Bones, your doctoring is showing.” Jim grins and finally everything is back to normal. Or as normal as it can be.

“Shut up, you imbecile.”

Jim giggles but turns sideways, the old shirt he’s wearing now is wide enough that Leonard can just push it up over his shoulder carefully. He removes the dressing and looks over the wound. “It looks alright, normally I’d probably have stitched you up but I don’t have the equipment here. So it’ll just have to do. Hold still.” He gets up to get new gauze and tape. As he turns around briefly he notices the pained look on Jim’s face before he quickly schools it into a fairly neutral expression again. Leonard sighs and gets a bottle of painkillers and water as well.

“Here,” he twists the cap off the water bottle and hands it to Jim together with two pills. “I’m a doctor not a mindreader, Jim, just tell me when it hurts.Well, technically, I’m not even a doctor.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m like a dog, you know, heal up real good and fast,” the crooked smile that appears on Jim’s face makes Leonard glance away quickly. 

“You’re just young.” Too young, Leonard adds mentally. The guy is too reckless, and he feels like the wound is his fault somehow. Maybe it’s just his hangover talking. Guilty jerk syndrome as they used to call it back in med school. 

“So,” Jim says after Leonard patched him back up, “I suppose your plumbing here doesn’t work…”

“Nope, plenty of bushes around, though.”

Jim hums and gets up, walking up the stairs. Leonard looks after him, he has a great ass, he notes absentmindedly. Not that it matters. The basement door creaks. Leonard shakes his head, then gets up as well. He stretches, grimacing at the way his joints crack.

Two bottles of water in hand he follows Jim up the stairs eventually. He walks into the living room to get the peaches he left there the previous day. He should probably go pick a few more. Maybe some apricots as well. He might even cook up something later, he’s pretty sure he has some flour left. For now he puts everything down on the table, though.

Jim is nowhere to be seen so he walks to the back of the house to check the veranda. Nothing.

“Jim? Did you get stuck in the bushes?”

“Nah.”

“Good god, man!” Leonard jumps and presses a hand over his heart. “Are you insane?!” Jim is standing right next to the door, leaned against the wall so Leonard didn’t see him, cigarette between his fingers. He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Leonard eyes the cigarette warily, at least he didn’t light it inside. Jim blows out a cloud of bluish smoke, it quickly dissipates in the muggy air around them. It’s still dark but definitely close to dawn, fog hangs low over the fields but it’s not cold. A breeze rustles the leaves of the trees and the grass around them. 

“Do you have coffee?” Leonard looks at Jim.

“ I think there’s still some in the kitchen but I-,” he furrows his brows, “Coffee and cigarettes, huh? That’s your breakfast? No wonder you’re so… underfed.”

Jim ignores the remark completely. “And you don’t happen to own a briki?” 

Leonard frowns, “A what?”

Jim rolls his eyes and puts the cigarette out on the wall. “Doesn’t matter but you have cups or something, right?”

“I- yes, there’s some stuff in the cupboards.”

“Brilliant, I’m gonna make us some excellent coffee! It’s gonna blow your mind!”

And with that Jim pushes past him back inside, snatches one of the water bottles from the table and disappears into the kitchen. Leonard huffs, mildly amused. He could use some coffee, but first he needs a trip to the bushes as well and then he’s gonna get some more fruit. 

In the kitchen Jim looks through the cupboards. No briki, of course, but he quickly finds some suitable mugs and the ground coffee. So he gets to work. 

He’s made better coffee before but its still decent, so he pours it into two mugs and carries them back to the living room. Leonard is sitting on the couch again, there are four peaches and two apricots on the table.

“Now that looks like a good breakfast to me.” Jim grins and plops down next to Leonard handing him one of the mugs. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Leonard mumbles and takes the mug. 

“You know, I always used to drink my coffee with milk but since every last drop of milk on this planet has gone off… Well, I got used to drinking it black quickly.” Jim shrugs and takes a sip from his mug. 

Leonard makes a mildly amused sound before he places his mug on the table and gets up, leaving the room. Jim raises his eyebrows in question but Leonard returns only a few moments later.

“Here. That stuff keeps forever. Not quite milk but the closest you can get.” And with that he hands Jim a jar of powdered coffee creamer.

Jim looks at him in wonder. “Bones, you’re all soft in the early morning hours. Who would have thought. This is great, thank you!”

Leonard just grumbles something unintelligible and starts drinking his coffee.

“Okay, I’m impressed,” he says after a minute, “You weren’t lying when you said you make great coffee.” Jim beams at him. “Y’know I usually just like, put the grounds in the mug and pour hot water over it.”

Now Jim suddenly stares at him as if Leonard insulted his mother. 

“What? It’s quick and easy.”

“It’s blasphemy, is what it is!”

Leonard just chuckles.

They drink their coffees in companionable silence, eat two peaches and an apricot each, and for a moment the world seems almost back to normal. But then Jim twists one way or another, his shoulder stings and he’s reminded that no, nothing is normal. 

At some point Jim suggests they drink whiskey again, just to ease them out of the pain of their hangovers. He also thinks that liquoring Bones (yes, Bones) up will help the guy relax some. For he truly needs it. Jim usually enjoys being the center of attention and stuff but it’s tiring to entertain his grumpy fellow all day long. 

Leonard supports the idea with concerning enthusiasm. Spock would be so pissed. The truth is that people didn’t like to exist and would try to get unconscious every now and then even when everything was ‘okay’. Now they’re just trying to survive. However, if they can just sit in this shitty farm for weeks and eventually drink themselves to death it’s still better than every other option the world has to offer these days. It almost feels like a happy end. And isn’t that just sad?

\---

“I found something yesterday while you were sleeping.” Jim says and Leonard freezes. He immediately starts to catalogue everything that’s in the house, everything Jim could have found that might get him in trouble. But most of his things are in the basement and that was still locked yesterday. 

“O-kay?” He asks slowly. 

“Yep.” Jim puts his mostly empty mug (which had previously been filled with coffee-tinged whiskey) on the table and gets up. Then he disappears into the hall and returns soon after with something way too colorful in hand. The bright colors seem incredibly out of place in their dull environment. 

“Found them in one of the old cabinets yesterday and they look to be mostly intact. Can’t remember the last time I went to fly kites!”

“Kites…? Seriously? You wanna go fly  _ kites?”  _

Leonard genuinely didn’t know he had those. When he found this place it already looked abandoned for years. He failed to find anything that would tell him something about the farm’s previous owner. No pictures, no clothes in dusty wardrobes, no books. Nothing. It seemed like the place didn’t have personality. Maybe that’s why he decided to make it his hideout. Anyway, he leaves Jim alone for five minutes (okay, yes, it was much longer than five minutes but who cares) and the guy stumbles across fucking kites.  _ Kites _ !

“Do you happen to have some weed?” Jim asks in the most innocent tone ever and Leonard’s jaw drops. That guy is impossible. “I just had that picture in my head… thought that getting high and flying kites would be pretty–”

“Dumb?!” 

“Ironic.” 

“No, I don’t have weed.” 

“Right.” And then Jim gives him a look, head tilted to one side, Leonard feels his cheeks burn. 

Half an hour later, when he’s running through the mist and drizzle, down a hill with a kite in his hand, he asks himself how his life came to this. The air is sweet and muggy, and warmer than it would seem. Everything feels surreal, like he’s looking through a haze.

Since he can’t do much because of his injury, Jim stands on the hill with the coil in his good hand. The thread tightens, the kite has caught the wind and Leonard jumps and lets it go. It’s their sixth attempt and he doesn’t have high hopes but somehow it finally works - the colorful piece of cheap plastic flutters and flies up to the gray sky. Victory! He wants to shout it out loud but he would never let himself be that reckless. Jim would though, and Leonard turns around at the loudest “Yes!” he’s heard in ages. He wants to be mad at Jim, he really does, but he can’t. There’s a strange sense of freedom to it, long forgotten, it’s like a tiny supernova collapsing in his chest. And Leonard chuckles at Jim’s sunshine bright smile.

Being stupid feels so good. 

Eventually, Leonard catches the kite out of the air and walks over to sit down next to Jim. The grass is damp from the fog and drizzle but he doesn’t care. He takes the bottle of bourbon they brought with them to ‘stay warm’ (it’s not even cold but he’ll take the excuse) and takes a swig. Then he hands it to Jim who takes it with a chuckle.

“Second breakfast, nothing better to cure a hangover than more alcohol.”

“You livin’ by that?”

“Nah, not usually. Haven’t actually had anything to drink since this all started.” That’s kind of true if  _ this all  _ means him and his friends splitting up and going separate ways after a quick vote he was exempt from. Jim doesn’t want to think about it. 

Leonard nods. Despite his sizable stash he didn’t drink much over the last three years either. Just sometimes, when things got too much.

“You know that your southern accent is way stronger in the morning. And when you’re drunk.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“It’s attractive, you know.” Jim isn’t looking at him, Leonard raises an eyebrow.

He really doesn’t know what to say to that, but he’s spared from answering when Jim sighs and lets himself fall back, pillowing his head on his good arm. 

“Been a while since I really got to appreciate a sunrise like that. I used to do it a lot. Got up when the stars were still out and then just watched them disappear as the sun was rising.”

Leonard just hums. He musters Jim for a moment; he’s gazing up at the sky, eyes flickering over the horizon. His expression seems almost wistful. The sun breaks through faraway clouds then, tinging everything in deep orange. Jim squints, a breeze ruffles his dark blond hair.

Leonard clears his throat and goes for the whiskey bottle.

“What’s the T stand for?” He asks eventually.

“Hm?” Jim turns his head towards him.

“James  _ T.  _ Kirk. Your middle name.”

“Oh, right. It’s my grandpa’s. Don’t ask.” Jim grimaces.

“Can’t be worse than mine.”

“You sure about that?”

“Pretty sure.” The corner of Leonard’s mouth twitches in amusement.

“I tell you mine if you tell me yours?” Jim offers.

“Sure.”

Jim sits up again, crosses his legs indian style and faces Leonard. “So?”

“It’s Horatio.”

_ “Horatio?”  _ Jim laughs, “Like in Hamlet?”

“Yes,” Leonard grumbles, “Told you it’s bad.”

“Ah well,” Jim is still giggling, “I don’t think Tiberius is much better.”

“Okay, that’s fair. Damn, that name is ancient.”

“I know, right? My mom should have just named me after my dad. James George wouldn’t have been that bad. But she once said that naming me after the man who died on the day of my birth would be a bad omen.” Jim rolls his eyes. 

“Wait, your dad was George Kirk?”

“Yeah, the astronaut, I told you.” Jim waves his hand dismissively.

Jim did tell him, but back then Leonard was still half asleep and Jim was drunk as hell, so he didn’t put one and one together until now. But now that Jim mentioned it again… George Kirk was a renowned astronaut who died, along with his crew, during the launch of their space shuttle in early 1996. They were supposed to dock on Mir. Leonard remembers learning about it in high school. 

“Guess I’m not the only one with daddy issues then,” Leonard mumbles and takes another swig from the bottle. If they’re gonna talk about it and, going by Jim’s poorly disguised interest, they are going to talk about it, he needs a drink.

“It ain’t a pretty story. It was so goddamn stupid.” Leonard pulls on a few blades of grass between his feet. “Back when this all started, when the first Infected turned up and the world started to crumble, I was traveling together with my father. He was very sick, tried to mask it but good luck hiding fucking lung cancer. Well, he wasn’t hiding that he has cancer, I knew he had it, but he tried to act like he wasn’t in pain all the time. Couldn’t fool me, though.”

Next to Leonard Jim has gone very still and is listening intently, arms wrapped around his knees.

“I was trying to find a cure. Of course I was, I’m— _ was _ gonna be a doctor after all.” Leonard sighs gravely. “Didn’t work. I couldn’t do it. He died half a year after we went on the road.”

“Bones… I’m so sorry,” Jim says quietly and for the first time in however long Leonard actually believes it. 

Leonard huffs humorlessly, “I told him to stop smoking years ago, ‘course he didn’t listen.” Then he swallows the last of what’s left in the whiskey bottle.

“Look at us,” Jim says after a moment and lies back down in the grass, “two fuck-ups in their twenties at the end of the world. No offense.” 

“None taken.”

Jim stretches out his hand towards Leonard and wriggles his fingers expectantly.

“All gone,” Leonard says and lifts up the empty bottle.

Jim groans. “Maybe it’s for the better.” He closes his eyes.

Leonard lies down next to him with a sigh. He tilts his head towards Jim; a small black bug is crawling from a blade of grass to a strand of Jim’s hair. Instinctively Leonard props himself back up on one arm, leans over Jim and reaches out to brush it away. Sensing the presence of something above his head Jim opens his eyes. 

“Hold still, you’ve got a–“ Leonard plucks the bug out of Jim’s hair and blows it off his finger. Jim is looking at him with wide blue eyes. Leonard stares back. “There was a bug.” His voice is scratchy. He swallows. Jim is still looking at him. 

“Thanks,” Jim’s voice is barely more than a whisper, his eyes flicker to Leonard’s lips and back up again. Somewhere in a tree behind them a crow caws loudly. Jim laughs, startled, and rolls onto his stomach. 

Leonard tries to forget the way Jim sounded kind of breathless all day. 


	8. Critical mistakes

“I can't even look at the whiskey anymore. No offense, your collection is inexhaustible, and your taste is truly impressive, as is your ability to make one thousand dishes using only flour, peaches and apricots. And you yourself are not bad at all, generally speaking...” Jim interrupts his flood of complaints to throw a quick glance at Leonard, who doesn’t even seem to listen. “But man, I just hate peaches by now. Maybe we can try and go hunting. I feel much better now. My shoulder’s totally healed.” To prove it he sharply raises his arm and winces in pain. “Damn it. Dude, I’m just bored.” He’s also so very drunk. 

Leonard doesn’t respond. He’s absolutely melted into his chair, literally merged with it, inspecting the ceiling, searching for new cracks and damp spots in it, all in vain. Nothing ever changes, until it does and the apocalypse comes. But even then there’s some comforting constancy in the way everything crashes down forever. Amen. 

They spent two weeks, probably, who’s still counting, sitting in the farmhouse, doing basically nothing. The weather is kinda shit, it’s either drizzling rain or mercilessly baking sun. The ground is steaming, as if sighing tiredly, warm and damp, and there’s no one around for miles – nobody, nothing; emptiness, silence, and rustling trees. So they drink, from early morning until dark, then lock themselves in the basement and sleep senseless, wake up in the stuffy room filled with the smell of fumes. They wash their faces with cool rain water and have somewhat of a breakfast, then drink until dark, and so on. It feels like a poorly planned vacation where you traveled to a tropical paradise in the middle of the rainy season and the hotel has only one bar open. However, Leonard has nothing to complain about. He needed a vacation for a long time. And a drinking buddy. Chronic fatigue syndrome is what it is. Duh. 

“And I need new clothes, Bones!” Jim declares in a fretty voice, pointing out the huge holes in the knees of his worn jeans with exaggerated despair. Alcohol works a little differently on Jim than on Leonard. At first he becomes damn talkative and active and rushes around in search of adventure, but when Leonard doesn’t let him he gets tired and just conks out on the nearest horizontal surface. Then Leonard, trying not to collapse and cripple them both, drags him to the basement, lies down next to him and stares at the dark ceiling for hours, listening to his friend’s even breathing. 

Right now, Jim is at the peak of activity, ridiculous and furious, disheveled and ruddy, but Leonard knows that you just have to wait.

“Go through the wardrobe then, find something,” Leonard suggests peacefully.

“No offense but your stuff is only suitable for scarecrows.”

None taken. Most of the clothes Leonard owns are just random pieces he picked up on his way through various houses he spent a night at. He’s been avoiding shopping malls for a while now. The Dead he can deal with, but people… and yet, somehow he ended up bringing a person to his house. 

“Man, let’s just get outside, please!” Jim is sulking funnily and Leonard turns his plaintive gaze to the ceiling again. 

That’s how it is now, and maybe it always was – people run, run to survive, but as soon as they finally find themselves in a safe place they become bored instantly. So what’s the point? Leonard has no answer, but he has a goal much more interesting than useless survival. He had to put his plans on hold and he blames it on Jim, fully aware that it’s stupid. Maybe he should just tell him everything? He can kind of trust him. You can’t just share your stash and spend two weeks drinking with someone you don’t trust. So he’s like sixty percent sure Jim is trustworthy, and that’s exactly sixty percent more than his credibility for the rest of the human race.

Still, Leonard had to clean up in the basement while Jim was asleep. He locked everything up in a locker. And either way, even if he had to explain everything at some point, he wouldn’t know where to start. Hello, my name is Leonard McCoy and I’m the most useless superman. Now that’s a perfect example of a savior complex. 

He could forget everything and just live a nice simple life, running from place to place. But then – oh the sweet torture of self-approach. He’d bully himself to death. He’s so good at it. 

“Okay, but first we need to sober up,” Leonard agrees halfheartedly in the end, although he’s not exactly sure why. It’s clear as day that it’s a ridiculously dumb undertaking.

Among other things, there’s a new addition to Leonard’s ever growing list of concerns – the increasing sexual frustration. Or well, something like that.

He was used to the fact that, since the catastrophe, his already rather uneventful sex life had been reduced to embarrassingly short dates with his right hand. But now… He’s just a guy in his mid-twenties after all.

Let’s just say Jim is simply one of those who are trying to have a good time, even in a dying world. In general, such optimism deserves nothing but deep respect. At the moment, for example, he sings, dancing through the living room, a whiskey bottle in his hand. In the rays of the morning sun, the light is white and blue with a fine grain, it’s just dust, like in an old movie, beautiful. He has already forgotten about the wardrobe crisis. He dances like no one is watching. But he definitely likes being watched. He certainly knows that Leonard is watching. Maybe he even knows what Leonard is thinking.

Maybe Leonard should try and respond to the thoughtless flirtation, maybe something could come out of it. Andy got some, presumably. Or did he? Jim said he didn’t. But Andy kind of hinted at it. Schrödinger’s blowjob. It’s intriguing.

Leonard mentally slaps himself for his thoughts. And then once more, just for good measure. Because he’s a masochist. And he thought he had a happy and healthy childhood. 

“I think I need coffee,” he mumbles more to himself. “Jim? Jim, make some coffee!”

But he doesn’t hear him because he’s singing, and he’s dancing with ghosts. 

\---

“Bones, wake up.” Leonard startles awake when Jim shakes his shoulder. “We’re here.”

Taking a look at the blurry landscape, Leonard realizes two things: first, one cup of strong coffee, Jim’s courtesy, is clearly not enough to recover from two weeks of casual binge drinking; and secondly, leaving their shelter before sobering up completely was a terrible mistake. His head is buzzing, the daylight burns his eyes and every sound shreds his ears. Maybe that’s how they feel, the Infected, and that’s why they pounce on all living things on sight – shut up, go away, leave me alone. And stop this noise, this light, everything. 

No, it’s just the alcohol, and he’s romanticizing evil hungry monsters. 

To Jim, it’s all a joke. Life is a joke. Or so it seems. Maybe he’s still a little drunk ags well. He smiles, jumps out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition, and slams the door shut. This is such a bad idea.

Leonard groans and rubs his temples. For two weeks he relaxed and kind of forgot where he was and what was going on all around them. But now he allowed himself to be persuaded. He pulls the flashlight out of the glovebox, the keys out of the ignition, and, muttering curses under his breath, gets out of the car. Thank God, they had the sense to arm themselves to the teeth when they left the house. 

All week the nasty drizzling alternated with the scorching midday sun, today the weather cleared up. There are only a few light clouds in the sky but the air is so humid it feels like you’re breathing water.

The shopping center, like everything else in this world, looks absolutely abandoned, wasted and therefore tremendous. Too big for this rural town. A gigantic monument to the consumerist society that no longer exists. There is no electricity. The automatic doors are forever frozen half open, a semi friendly invitation to enter at your own risk. Leonard knows this place, he has been here. Before, but never after. He can’t remember the name of the town.

Everything more or less edible or useful has been taken a long time ago, but as it turns out, Jim is good at finding things. Better than Leonard, at least. He’s so much smarter than he tries to appear. It’s confusing.

Jim is already inside, Leonard hears broken glass crunching beneath his feet. What an idiot. With a sigh, Leonard throws the machine gun over his shoulder and follows him, or rather, the faint sound of his steps, the glare of his shadow on the walls, because it’s impossible to keep up with him. He’s like a five-year-old who has been locked up for too long. 

They’re already on the third floor; personally, he wouldn’t even try to get this high, both literally and metaphorically. Climbing up a frozen escalator, Leonard looks around carefully. Besides barely audible sounds coming from Jim’s movements everything is quiet, very quiet. Dust, broken glass, and a loop of ‘this is a bad idea, this is a bad idea’ playing in the back of his mind on repeat like a broken tape. Leonard follows the footprints left by Jim’s sneakers on the dusty gray floor. There are no other traces. If someone was here, it was a very long time ago. It's good. 

What’s bad is that his head is spinning a little again, but it must be the adrenaline. There’s a tickling feeling somewhere in his solar plexus but that’s how it should be. It’s called feeling alive. 

“Come here!” Jim whisper-shouts and Leonard follows his voice to the menswear section. The window there is broken and for a second Leonard freezes, taken aback by the sunlight and the warm wind pouring in. This building is the tallest in the area and the view of the desolate abandoned town beneath them is quite mesmerizing. Wind blows old newspapers over the sunlit street, it seems almost peaceful.

“Look, I think this might suit you.” Leonard barely manages to catch the ridiculously bright shirt that gets thrown at him.

“I’m fine, thank you very much. I don’t need new clothes.”

“It’s summer and you’re wearing a sweater,” Jim notices reasonably. “And look at the hole over your knee.” Leonard just shrugs. “Oh whatever, but I need a new outfit,” and with that Jim simply takes off his worn t-shirt.

The wound on his shoulder is almost healed, that’s the first thing Leonard notices; as Jim’s self-appointed attending physician he allowed him to remove the bandage a couple of days ago. Jim heals like a dog, he said so himself and apparently he knew what he was talking about. The next thing Leonard notices is that Jim no longer looks as exhausted and hunger-bitten as he used to, which is good. Thinking back to when they first met, Jim looked pretty rough.  
And finally, Leonard notes mentally, it's time for him to stop staring. Perhaps he should occupy himself with something useful and stock up on clothes. The thing is that—

Jim chooses that moment to pull off his pants to try on a pair of black jeans, damn him. “So how does my ass look in these?” He twists around to look at Leonard.

“What’s the difference, let’s get out of here. This place is making me uneasy,” Leonard grumbles. In fact, his stomach just dropped. Needless to say, Jim’s ass looks great. In everything.

“Wait, I'll try on something else. Something more fitting for summer.” He rummages through the shirts, blithely throwing aside what he doesn’t like. This is how chaos is born.

Leonard shakes his head, then he quickly pulls on the shirt Jim threw at him earlier and looks into a dusty mirror. A long crack wanders across it, cutting the bleak image of Leonard's tired face in half. When did he get so tanned? He runs his hand over the mirror, removing dust, and peers at his reflection. Who is that strange, unfamiliar person? Then, to his horror, he notices that the sweater's neck is stretched out awfully wide. He completely forgot about it, too busy being drunk and having _ fun _, what a moron. Leonard's hand reaches out instinctively to rub over a spot where his skin lost almost all sensitivity. Did Jim notice it yet? The white scar, crawling up from his shoulder and along his neck, stark contrast to his tanned skin. It’s rough work, but try stitching up the torn edges of a wound on your own neck, in the freezing cold with trembling hands, literally on the run. How he made it out alive is still incomprehensible.

With a sigh he goes through the piles of clothing, searching for a new sweater or turtleneck. When he finally finds the right thing and a pair of jeans, he hides behind a rack to put them on, throwing the other shirt aside, just like Jim did. Obviously, he doesn’t share his companion’s desire to demonstrate his body, unrequested.

Even after years on a hanger, new clothes still smell like new clothes. It feels nice and soft and familiar, like everything good that has been lost and taken away from their lives.

When he comes out from his hide between the clothing racks, Jim is nowhere to be seen. A chill runs down his back. He looks around once more and finally notices Jim, motionlessly standing next to a mannequin. In his new garish shirt, something with pineapples, and new jeans, the tall and slender guy is almost indistinguishable from the plastic figures dressed in the _ Newest Fashion Trends 2013 _. Leonard shakes his head and opens his mouth to utter a couple of caustic remarks about Jim's monstrous fashion sense when he feels movement behind his back. Jim looks at him with his eyes open wide in shock.

Pull yourself together, come on. “I said it was a bad idea,” Leonard grumbles, and Jim's eyes grow even bigger when Leonard turns around abruptly and blows off the head of the Infected with one well-aimed shot. The bang is reflected from the walls, hollow, loud, and immediately the building comes to life. Everything all around them suddenly rustles, hums and grinds, crackles and shudders, and Leonard realizes with horror that they stirred up a hornet's nest. And it’s even worse ‒ they are in its very core. You allow yourself to relax, you lose vigilance for one second (well, two weeks) and you are a dead man. Sounds about right. 

“Bones, we need to leave, very, very quickly,” Jim suggests quietly, and then Leonard realizes that all this time he was staring into space, where the Infected’s head had just been. Now it’s gone, just the body is still standing. That’s the moment he finally perceives how drunk he actually still is and the blood is ringing in his ears.

“Come on, man,” Jim says softly and pulls him by the sleeve. “Let’s get out of here.”

Leonard shudders and looks into his eyes, blue, sparkling, so alive. “Is your gun loaded?” Jim nods and Leonard cocks his own. He nods at the corpse of the corpse. “This one was quite weak. Maybe they’re all like this here, so there is a chance.”

“Yeah, a very optimistic outlook," Jim grins cheerlessly. They both know it never works like that. 

_ It’s all because of you, idiot _ is on the tip of Leonard’s tongue, but for once he restrains himself. There’s no point in it and in the end it was him who let this happen. _ It’s all because of you. _

\---

It feels like forever. They run and run and it seems like Leonard’s lungs are filled with liquid fire. Who would have thought that breathing can be this painful.

On the second floor they ran out of bullets and he used his machine gun as a club. The Dead are old, almost dried up, like mummies, but there are so many of them, too many. He has never seen such incredible numbers of Dead in one place. He’s almost excited. They are like hordes of spiders waking up from hibernation. And as they wake up more and more, they become faster and faster. 

That's why there were no bodies on the street, Leonard thinks, it looks like they are all Infected from the first day, all of the residents of this town. And they are not suitable for the experiment, such a pity, he notes in passing, too weak.

Leonard loses sight of Jim at some point. He looks around absently, like through a haze, and it seems to him like he’s literally walking over bones, everything crunches and squeaks under his feet, but it’s just broken glass and plastic.

He hears the muffled scream from the other side of the hall. _ Jim, Jim, Jim _ is all he can think anymore as he pushes the Dead away with double the force. He'll be fine, he knows that, but Jim…

He shouts again and then finally spots him, Jim rushes at full speed to the escalator on the other side of the hall, pursued by a pair of very fast individuals, and with no gun attached to him. “Look down! Ground floor!”

Leonard finally manages to make out Jim’s words, he glances down from the balustrade to the ground floor and freezes in place. They hit the jackpot.

The first floor is absolutely crowded with the Dead, like a subway hall at rush hour, and they turn their heads, staring up to them with dull eyes. Studies never managed to establish how well they can actually see.

Leonard swings his machine gun and turns around abruptly, allowing the force of inertia to properly spin him. He knows they are there and acts reflexively, involuntarily, like in his nightmares. The sound of broken skulls, splashes of black blood, and that’s it. He hesitates in front of an escalator, the Dead are already stumbling upstairs like a crowd of broken mannequins. Nowhere to run, definitely not going down there. 

He rushes towards Jim.

“I have a plan, follow me!” Jim grabs his hand and they run.

“Of course you have a plan,” Leonard grumbles, gasping for breath.

Jim's plan is to get on the roof and climb down the fire escape on the side of the building. It’s the best plan possible, mostly because there are no alternatives. To his credit, in emergency situations Jim thinks incredibly fast. He stops short at a display with a floor plan and cleans its dusty surface with his palm. His knuckles are bloody, Leonard shakes his head, glances at Jim’s neck and shoulders – they usually bite there, then the elbows, knees and ankles. High on adrenaline people sometimes don’t even notice right away that they’ve been bitten, but Jim seems fine. 

He moves his lips silently, studying the plan, his pupils are dilated in the dim light, only a shock of the deep blue of his irises is visible. Somehow, the semi-darkness makes his eyes look even brighter.

Leonard looks down over the balustrade, shivers run down his spine when he sees the sea of the Dead below. The Dead Sea.

“Follow me!” Jim shouts, and so Leonard does. 

When they jump out onto the roof, they almost get knocked down by the warm wind. Jim quickly throws the door shut behind them, hopefully it will last. They should have a couple more minutes to catch their breath. Along the way, they closed all doors and piled everything in their way up behind them. These creatures are too stupid and inert to revise their plan of action, they are probably still trying to break through the door on the third floor.

For a moment it finally becomes quiet; the heat from the surface of the roof rises and the air smells of tar. This is hell, it exists and it’s happening now.

For a moment, all that can be heard is the sound of their heavy breathing. Then Jim huffs and suddenly he breaks out into laughter. Leonard stares at him incredulously, like he’s gone completely insane. Jim has his back pressed against the metal door and his head tilted down but it’s unmistakably that he’s laughing. He looks up at Leonard, and it almost seems like he’s trying to stop, but then he actually hiccups and starts laughing again. Leonard knows it’s just the adrenaline rush, knows that they should be careful, not make that much noise and get the fuck out of here as fast as possible, but he can’t help himself. Jim throws his head back and before Leonard knows what’s happening he’s laughing as well. It’s insane but damn, does it feel good. 

“Well, where the hell’s that fire escape?” Leonard exhales eventually, slowly recovering from his last fit of giggles.

“Should be over there,” Jim points to the right, but when Leonard starts walking in the indicated direction, he hurriedly grabs Leonard’s wrist. “Wait.”

Leonard turns around to ask what’s wrong and literally stumbles into Jim. He has about a second to process what’s happening before Jim puts a hand on his cheek and kisses him. 

Leonard can immediately tell that Jim is a good, _ damn _ good, kisser, but why he would kiss him in the first place and in this particular moment, is beyond him. It must be his current state of shock when Leonard responds to the kiss, for just a second, but it's like jumping into ice water. His whole body goes numb and turns to stone. He’s drowning. 

\---

They drive in silence, Leonard behind the wheel, and it seems that through the monotonous roaring in his ears he can clearly hear the beating of their hearts choking on adrenaline.

“Well, that was fun,” Jim sums up. He is allergic to silence, what else is new. 

Leonard just hums in reply. He is trying to focus on the road and not to analyze. His cheeks are burning, he’s sure Jim can see it. From time to time he glances in the rearview mirror to check if the Dead are stalking them, but there is no one there, nothing. He looks straight ahead again, catches his own reflection staring back at him. His eyes, tired and frightened. He tries not to look at Jim at all. Oh, what a pathetic coward he is. 

“Okay, I admit, it was a bad idea. We should have stayed home.” _ Home _ . “And I shouldn’t have kissed you just like that.” _ Kiss _.

Leonard shrugs. He doesn’t trust himself to speak right now. He knows for a fact he would regret every word he could possibly say in this situation. That’s how it usually happens.

“But y’know, heat of the moment and all. I was just, you know, glad I’m still alive.” Jim makes a vague hand gesture in mid air. “Sorry?” He grimaces. And Leonard knows, even from just glancing at Jim, that something obviously went wrong, he just doesn’t understand what.

“I'm glad you're still alive, too, Jim.” Leonard’s voice is low but even and he congratulates himself for keeping his composure when he senses the nervous tension leaving Jim’s body.

A few more minutes pass in silence before Leonard opens his mouth again. “You don't smoke anymore?”

“No, I quit.”

“Good.” Leonard smiles to himself and leans back in the driver's seat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we know this was probably the most unsatisfying kiss you’ve ever read. we told you it’s slooooooow burn ;)


	9. The trick is to keep breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for a brief implication of past self-harm.

“You go wash up, I’ll just…” Leonard trails off as they finally reach the farm again and waves his hand vaguely towards the house. Jim knows he means the basement and it makes him feel uneasy. For the past two weeks they were drinking non-stop and everything was fine, but Jim didn’t forget the state Leonard was in when they met. It already seems like a lifetime ago, but Leonard did act somewhat strange back then. And he was exhausted as hell. When they lost the van and woke up in the field on a gray morning, Leonard looked at him furiously and said he didn’t need a companion, for the one hundredth time. And then he almost killed them on the road because he fell asleep on the wheel for a second. And then Jim found him blacked out in his bed, sleeves of his old sweater rolled up. 

Oh whatever, Jim just shrugs, he won’t pass up the opportunity for the first ‘shower’. So he walks to the back of the house with his new clothes in hand, undresses on the back porch and grabs the two buckets, a bar of soap and one of the towels they use to wash. 

Jim peeks into the water barrels around the corner of the house, thanks to the rain they are still quite full. He dunks one of the buckets into the water and pours it over himself. He shudders briefly, it’s not exactly warm. He starts lathering his hair with the soap and, once satisfied with the foam built-up, takes the bucket with the holes drilled into the bottom. Jim briefly wonders if he’ll ever see a normal shower again.

Once he’s done he pulls on his new clothes and marvels in the feeling of clean and intact jeans for a moment. Back when he was a teen he never really cared much for what his clothes looked like but times have changed and now Jim is just glad to finally have something new to wear after weeks in the same three shirts.

When he steps back into the house Leonard seems to still be in the basement so Jim simply drops his old clothes in a corner of the living room and walks down the stairs. There is a faint rustling coming from the other side of the basement and Jim steps closer, mouth already hanging open to speak, when he freezes.

Leonard sits with his back turned towards Jim and he’s shirtless. That alone would have been enough reason for Jim to stare, he hasn’t actually seen the other in anything other than a long-sleeve before, but what really stops Jim in his tracks are the jagged lines of scar tissue all over Leonard’s upper body. They’re everywhere; his shoulders, upper arms, curling over his sides… some are red and angry looking, some are white and smooth. 

Living in a world with the undead taught Jim to move almost silently so he takes a cautious step closer without saying anything. It’s only now that he notices that Leonard has a tourniquet tied around his left arm and holds a syringe in his right hand. Jim’s stomach turns and he feels anger bubbling up inside him, yes, the world is fucked but it’s still no reason to just– Leonard lift his hand then, holds the syringe up against the light and Jim can see that it’s now filled with crimson.

Jim’s anger dissipates immediately and he backtracks silently until he’s outside the basement again. He blows out a slow breath. Why would Leonard draw his own blood? And what’s with all the scars? It looked bad but Jim feels like he needs to take a closer look to really be able to tell.

He sits down on the ratty couch and waits for Leonard to return. It doesn’t take long; when he gets back he’s wearing his thin sweater again and gives Jim a quick once-over.

“Well, I guess you could have picked worse.”

“Hey! Just admit that I look good.” Jim grins at him and leans back, arms spread demonstratively over the back of the couch, heavy heart, hazy head.

“Yeah, right.” Leonard rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Sure thing, Bones.” Jim grins at him. 

Leonard narrows his eyes, “No stunts or tricks.”

“Me? I would never!”

“Obviously,” Leonard mumbles but then he grabs his things and leaves for the backyard.

Jim looks after him until he disappears through the door. He hesitates; it’s an unspoken rule that they leave the other alone while they’re doing anything regarding personal hygiene but… Jim’s always been a curious guy and now it seems like Leonard might be seriously ill. He just needs to get a closer look at those scars. 

Jim gives Leonard a few more minutes before he silently follows him out. He all but tiptoes to the corner of the house and very carefully leans around it, ready to pull back any second should Leonard be facing his way. He doesn’t. Leonard is in the middle of washing his hair, the muscles in his back shift with his movements and offer Jim an almost perfect view of his old injuries.

Yeah no, Jim has seen scars before and pretty bad ones. The world is scarred and people are and always were, because they’re stupid and fragile and made of flesh.

Spock has a scar above his left eye that makes his eyebrow look weird, like there’s only half of it. He once tripped over a coffee table and scared the shit out of his usually so quiet and composed mother. He colored the entire room red, but then Jim laughed because before the accident he actually thought Spock’s blood was green or blue or fluorescent. Whatever. 

Sulu has a long neat surgery scar on his upper left abdomen – he ruptured his spleen when he fell from the railings in the skatepark – and small cuts on his forearms. Those were different and Jim discovered them on one exceptionally sunny day, when they were ‘hunting‘ – when they were high and a mess, and he didn’t ask. 

Jim has a few, a lot even, because as a teen he couldn’t help getting into fights at any occasion. Because of reasons, and the reasons were alcohol, boredom and sometimes maybe repressed anger. In this order, if he’s being completely dishonest. The deepest and the most memorable one though is the one on his right foot. Memorable because he wasn’t drunk. He was ten and he stepped on a tin lid and it hurt, and he cried, that’s all. Honorable mention – the brand new scar on his shoulder. That one is going to look really badass in the near future.

Scars are very human. But Leonard, Bones, now he’s so human and so unaware of it, Jim thinks. It makes him feel sad and warm in his chest, just like seconds before jumping into a fight.

If Jim thought it looked bad the first time he saw the scars, it’s nothing compared to what he can see now that he’s only a few feet away from Leonard. There is a nasty-looking red mark reaching all the way from the mid of Leonard’s right side to almost his spine. The part of it that’s on his back is all jagged and risen while the half of the scar that curls over his side seems to have been stitched up at some point. About two inches above the scar are two gashes that are now covered by smooth pink-ish scar tissue. 

There’s a group of four nearly parallel lines on his left side and similar ones over his right upper arm. The latter definitely had some medical attention so Jim’s fairly sure Leonard stitched up what he could reach. What shocks Jim the most, though, are the scars on and around Leonard’s neck. 

Contrary to the other ones, these are more circular, some almost complete, some more like half-circles. Because Leonard is still washing his hair Jim doesn’t get the best look at the scars but if he didn’t know better he’d say they’re bite marks. But that’s impossible, right?

Jim retreats silently, head spinning. There’s no way the scars on his neck are from bites, there were at least three or four, Leonard would be more than dead with that many. Or rather, undead, hah. Jim’s sense of humor seriously deteriorated over the years.

There must be another explanation, Jim thinks as he plops down on the couch again. Maybe it's a rare skin condition or maybe… Jim swallows heavily, the scars combined with Leonard drawing his own blood… He’s a medical professional, his dad had cancer and Leonard did research on it. Jim’s no expert but he does know skin cancer exists and who knows, maybe it can lead to such extreme cases of scarring. And honestly, the way Leonard actually seemed to be scared of living more than he was of the Dead...

He exhales slowly and tries to act his usual cheerful self as Leonard returns, wearing new, albeit long, clothes.

“How do I look?” Leonard opens his arms and turns in a slow circle, making it very clear how ridiculous he thinks it is.

“Hot,” Jim answers truthfully, “Literally.”

Leonard just frowns at him and Jim shrugs, “I’m an honest guy.” He actually is. But there’s a question on the tip of his tongue and it takes effort to just swallow it.  _ Please tell me you aren’t dying right now as you’re standing there looking at me like this?  _

Leonard shakes his head but Jim is pretty sure to see a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. I’ll take this as a no, Jim thinks. Leonard leaves the room and returns shortly after with a bottle of what Jim knows to be very expensive whiskey. More expensive than what they had the entire last week. Jim raises an eyebrow in question.

“We almost died so I guess why not celebrate. It’s the best I got and–,” Leonard lifts a plastic bag Jim hasn’t noticed before up from the floor, “I also got this from the store before we had to bolt.” He puts the bottle on the table and upends the bag on it as well. 

“Wow, how did you find these?” Jim asks in awe as he takes the two bags of chips from the table. “And they’re salt and vinegar aka–”

“The best kind.” Jim beams at Leonard as he completes his sentence.

“We’re soulmates, Bones. I’m telling you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Let’s have dinner outside, it’s stuffy in here.”

_ “Dinner.”  _ Jim chuckles.

“Hey, it's got something savory for once so I’m calling it dinner. Deal with it.”

“I love it when you get sassy.”

“I’m not getting  _ sassy.” _

“Whatever you say, Bones, whatever you say.”

They’re sitting on the steps of the porch and Jim marvels at the feeling of the soft buzz good alcohol gives you if you drink just the right amount. They’d both silently agreed to not get shitfaced for once and it was very nice for a change. The chips had been like gourmet food to them after months, maybe years, without any and Jim didn’t shy away from tipping the last crumbs from the bag right into his mouth.

After they’re done eating they fall into a comfortable silence, they’ve talked about everything and nothing over the past two weeks so Jim’s run a bit low on topics to bring up and talk about. Instead, he keeps inconspicuously mustering Leonard who’s tilted his head towards the setting sun. It’s now clear as day to Jim why Leonard keeps wearing long clothes even in the summer heat. 

At least now Jim knows that Leonard isn’t a junkie. He chuckles wryly.

“What?” Leonard asks suddenly and Jim gets startled out of his thoughts.

“Hm?” 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just remembered something.” Jim shrugs.

Leonard looks at him like he wants to ask but he doesn’t, instead he says: “You know, back there on the roof–”

“Yeah?” Jim perks up from where he’s lounging on the steps.

“I–” Leonard stops, looks away and sighs, “I looked down and there was this beautiful view of the town. And like, is it weird to think that there’s something beautiful in the way the world got destroyed beyond retrieve? There’s no way back, even when it’s all over.”

Jim frowns at him, “What do you mean ‘when it’s all over’? It’s already over.”

Leonard’s eyes widen in what Jim assumes is shock for a split second but it’s gone so fast he can’t be sure. “I mean, yes, of course but, well… maybe it’s for the better. The world was always a shitty place.”

“Look at you, Mister Optimist,” Jim laughs but then he goes quiet for a moment before asking, “What do you miss most? About how it used to be.”

“Sleeping in an unlocked room with windows,” Leonard replies almost instantly, “You?”

“Flying.”

“Flying? As in, on a plane?”

“Yeah, I mean, I never  _ actually  _ flew a plane but I clocked something like two thousand hours in a Cessna 172 on the simulator. I was gonna get my license soon. Always wanted to fly over cities at night. See them glowing.” Jim sighs. “Well, it’s not gonna happen anymore now. Cities no longer glow.”

“How come you spent so much time on the simulator? You were a teen, didn’t you have more fun things to do?” Leonard asks and he seems genuinely interested.

“You always act like you’re ten years older than me.”

“I might as well be.”

“Fuck off,” Jim laughs and Leonard grins at him, it does weird things to Jim’s insides. “Yeah, well I was bored a lot and you know I told you we— I wanted to work for SpaceX eventually. Becoming a pilot just seemed like a good idea and it was fun.” Jim shrugs. “Maybe it’s the genes.”

Leonard hums. “I hate flying, always have. I avoid it at all costs and when I was forced to fly… let’s just say I once spent an entire flight in the lavatory because it doesn’t have windows.”

“Did it help?”

“Not really.” Leonard grimaces.

Maybe Leonard isn’t dying, Jim thinks, maybe he survived a plane crash, when planes still existed as they used to. Drawing white lines in the skies. They fall into silence again, Jim keeps glancing at Leonard and eventually gets caught doing so. 

“What?” Leonard asks, eyebrow raised in a fashion Jim’s come to interpret as Leonard’s no-bullshit attitude. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not.” He huffs. “Alright, so since the gigantic pink elephant refuses to leave our general vicinity – Again, I’m sorry that I kissed you. You’re not interested, that’s okay. It’s fine. Can we just please not make this awkward? Because you’re literally the only person around and I’d like to keep talking to someone.”

Jim knows he’s not really making any sense and he’s probably simply projecting but he needs Leonard to address the kiss somehow. Besides, it’s a way more fascinating subject to ponder than overthinking Leonard’s alleged mysterious medical condition. Instead he can do what he usually does best – turn his head off. It’s working, he can almost feel the taste of Leonard’s lips on his own again, and the heat from the roof, and the cool wind in his hair. Not knowing whether Leonard is just not into dudes or not into him or if it was something else is killing him. Yes, it obviously was shit timing but still… 

Eventually, Leonard sighs and says, “Listen, right now I’m not…,” he hesitates for a second, “I’m not  _ interested  _ in anyone. It’s dangerous.” He looks away. “To get distracted.”

A slow, mischievous smile stretches over Jim’s face. “So I distracted you?”

“Will you stop? You know what I mean. We have to be careful.” Jim’s almost sure there’s a bit of color in Leonard’s cheeks.

“We’re careful now. We’re on a remote farm and have a basement with a lock.” What he’s doing at this point Jim can’t even tell himself. 

Leonard squints at him but now Jim is certain he’s gone a bit red.

“How long have you been alone for, Bones?”

“I’ve been traveling alone since my father passed, thanks for asking.”

“Don’t be like that, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t see how this plays any role n–“

“Oh, shut up, you know exactly why I’m asking.”

Leonard stares at him, a muscle in his jaw ticks dangerously but then he says, albeit begrudgingly, “Something over two years.”

“Jesus!” Jim blows out a breath between his teeth. “How are you alive?”

“I have hands.”

“You know just as well as me that that’s not the same.”

“Will you drop it? My sexual frustration is none of your business.” Leonard’s expression has darkened considerably. 

“I can make it my business.” Jim knows he’s pushing it, he’s just not exactly sure why, he’s not even that drunk, not that desperate, not that... okay maybe sometimes he just does stupid things to see where they lead, as some sort of experiment. It’s better than being sad. And see, it started almost as a joke, but he can read people well; he knows that Leonard’s already started considering it, how he’s probably weighing up the pros and cons in his head. Fantastic. 

Leonard opens his mouth, no doubt to tell Jim to fuck off but then he just snaps it shut again. He looks at him, thinking, eyes flickering over Jim’s face. His gaze lingers on the small scar high on Jim’s cheekbone for a moment. “What happened to your group?”

The question catches Jim completely off guard and he blinks owlishly at Leonard. He frowns, considers ignoring it completely but he’s a bit buzzed and so he just says, “They left.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re shit friends.”

The look Leonard regards him with makes Jim squirm in place. 

“Okay, maybe I was being kind of a dick sometimes, but Spock was fucking driving me insane! With his stupid rules and his leader bullshit and, and–” Jim deflates. “It doesn’t matter. They ditched me while I was sleeping and that’s it.”

Leonard is quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

Jim just huffs humorlessly and leans back to lie on the porch. “But hey, I met you, so some good came from it.”

Leonard looks at him, Jim’s eyes are closed and a small smile plays along the corner of his mouth. For a moment Leonard can’t look away.

“You’re a good guy, Bones,” Jim mumbles, his voice seems heavy now, almost exhausted. He sighs.

—-

Jim snaps awake as two strong arms drag him up from the hard wooden porch. His heart jumps into his throat but then he hears Bones voice. “Goddamn infant, keeps falling asleep so I have to carry your sorry ass to bed.”

“Oh c’mon Bonesy, you don’t mean that,”Jim slurs and takes some of his weight off Leonard so they can stumble clumsily down to the basement. Leonard grumbles something under his breath. “Whassat?”

“Nothing.” Leonard just says and Jim’s too sleepy to press the matter.

They stagger ungracefully to the bed in the corner and Leonard pushes Jim on the mattress, making a move to pull away to do who knows what but Jim grabs his wrist, “Stay.”

Leonard hates that he goes so easily.

He settles next to Jim, by now they’ve learned how to lie mostly comfortable next to each other on the small bed without crowding into the other’s space too much. But tonight it’s different.

Leonard lies with his back towards Jim, mirroring the other’s position in what could be called spooning if there wasn’t a good foot of space between them. Except that tonight there isn’t a foot of space.

Jim’s moved closer, Leonard can feel his body heat and a moment later he feels a tentative touch on his upper arm. He flinches briefly which causes Jim to make a soft shushing sound. “‘S just me.”

“I know that, dumbass.” But he relaxes noticeably. Jim chuckles quietly.

“Is this okay?” He asks. His hand trails slowly down to Leonard’s elbow. He’s still wearing his long-sleeved shirt, the touch is barely there. He says nothing and Jim takes it as the silent Yes it is. Leonard’s heart lodges somewhere in his throat.

Jim’s fingers stop briefly as they reach Leonard’s elbow, as if to give him the way out, but Leonard stays silent. Jim lets his hand glide to his hip bone. Leonard swallows audibly.

Jim leaves his hand there, unmoving, for so long that Leonard thinks he fell asleep again, but then Jim moves a bit closer and Leonard realizes he once again waited, simultaneously giving him time to relax and to stop Jim, should he want to.

The tips of Jim’s fingers start to stroke along the waistband of Leonard’s jeans, softly at first, tentatively, but then his blunt fingernails meet his skin, scratching lightly and Leonard exhales unsteadily.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Jim mumbles softly, close to his ear and for a second Leonard wonders where Jim’s other arm is. It’s probably trapped under his body and that can’t be comfortable but then Jim slips three fingertips beneath his waistband. Leonard’s heart hammers against his rib cage. He’s sure Jim can feel it.

“It’s okay,” Jim repeats and Leonard bites his lip as his jeans button gets popped open. Jim toys with the zipper for a while, again waiting, his breath soft against Leonard’s ear. Leonard feels himself thicken, the muscles in his thighs tense and relax. He swallows.

“I can stop anytime,” Jim murmurs, his voice deep and even, “Just say the word.” Leonard doesn’t say anything. Jim starts to drag his zipper down.

Again, he’s starting slowly, always gauging Leonard’s reactions, but when Leonard doesn’t stop him his movements quicken. He pulls the zipper down fully, his hand brushes Leonard’s semi through the thin cotton of his underwear and he shudders. 

It’s ridiculous, Leonard thinks, he’s had sex plenty of times, has gotten handjobs in his life, and yet this feels monumental.

Jim’s molded his entire hand over Leonard’s crotch now, cupping him gently, barely moving, but this alone is enough to make Leonard’s dick pulse. Then he starts to actually stroke Leonard through his briefs and it takes an embarrassingly short time to get him to full hardness. 

Leonard clenches his teeth and a huff of breath escapes him sharply. He’s stretching the material of his underwear quite uncomfortably now and when Jim asks “Can I?” Leonard nods. “Y-yeah.”

He almost whimpers when Jim wraps his hand around his cock.

Now that Leonard’s actually voiced his consent clearly, Jim doesn’t waste much time. It’s clear that he’s given his fair share of handjobs before. That, or he’s an absolute natural (or Leonard’s just really fucking desperate). He rubs his thumb over the head, gathering moisture to ease the glide some and even though it’s still toeing the line of too dry, Jim knows exactly how to twist his wrist to elicit a soft moan from Leonard.

“It’s alright, Bones,” Jim is whispering and it’s only now that Leonard notices that he’s moved even closer, his chest is almost flush with Leonard’s back now. Strangely it makes Leonard feel more grounded.

Jim is speeding up his strokes now, gliding more easily as Leonard leaks more precome and he does this thing where he tightens his fist close to the head that makes Leonard see stars.

“Jim, I’m–“

“I know, I know, it’s okay. I’ve got you, Bones.”

Leonard is kind of relieved that Jim’s breathing is definitely coming more labored now. And goddamn, he’s always going to think of this now whenever Jim calls him Bones.

Jim squeezes him a bit tighter again and then he grazed his thumbnail just barely across the slit. Leonard yelps and bucks against Jim, who only holds him closer, front against his back, then he does it again.

Leonard has barely enough time to press his hand over his mouth to stifle the loud moan that escapes him as he comes. His entire body clenches tightly, his heart is trying to beat out of his chest and he squeezes his eyes shut while Jim strokes him through it, never loosening the close embrace he holds him in. 

When Leonard starts to come down, aftershocks slowly fading out, Jim stops stroking him, just rests his hand there and once Leonard stops seeing flickers of black and white in his vision he reaches out blindly to grab a few tissues which are luckily in reach.

They cooperate silently, cleaning Jim’s hand and Leonard’s stomach off as best as they can before Jim tucks him back in and pulls his hand away to let it rest on Leonard’s hip once more. Leonard drops the dirty tissues down the side of the bed and as he shifts back he feels Jim’s erection quite obviously pressing against his backside.

Leonard bites his lip, something not unlike guilt washes over him; Jim did this for him, only for him. But Leonard’s mama always taught him to be a gentleman.

He’s about to turn around when Jim murmurs, as if reading his mind, “Don’t worry about it, Bones.” Then he exhales softly. “Does this bother you?” The small twitch of his hips makes it obvious that he means his erection pressing against the small of Leonard’s back.

Leonard shakes his head, “No.”

“Good,” Jim whispers with a content sigh.

“Thank you,” Leonard mumbles. Jim makes a small sound, headbutts him softly in the shoulder. Leonard can feel him exhale slowly through the material of his shirt.

And while Jim drifts off to sleep within minutes, Leonard lies awake for another hour, thinking about bright blue eyes and the sun reflecting off golden hair.


	10. How deeply are you sleeping?

Jim tilts his head at an unnatural angle and twists his torn mouth in a grimace of a smile. “You’re having a nightmare,” he says and Leonard opens his eyes. He takes a sharp breath, as if he’s just leaped out of ice water, and sits up in bed. But Jim is here, next to him, very much asleep, there’s a new scratch on his elbow and he doesn’t know a damn thing. Leonard doesn't want to wake him.

He gets out of bed and quietly goes up the stairs. He’s not even consciously trying to move silently. It’s become second nature. Just like he imagined when he was five years old ‒ he’s a bloody ninja. A huge, unshaven, hungover ninja.

He tumbles out of the house into the foggy morning, barefoot, still lost in light sleep, and inhales damp morning air with his entire chest. A milky haze floats above the ground, folding the trunks of trees in soft cotton wool, dewdrops glisten in the grass and dawn is rising in the gray skies. He’s seen this a thousand times, everything seems so painfully familiar but something has changed. Life is a very strange thing.

Leonard rinses his face with cool water from the barrel in the backyard to wash the sticky sweat from his forehead, last traces of the nightmare.

When he met Jim in that grocery store in Baxley or rather, saved Jim's ass in that grocery store in Baxley, he had no idea what it would lead to.

He checks the peach trees and rips off a couple of the fruits Jim’s learned to hate so much over the past week or so. If all goes well they can move to Ohio at the end of the summer. Leonard has another lovely hideout there. In May, for lack of anything better to do, he planted a tiny field on a farm, conveniently remote from all major roads, with potatoes. Of course, he’s not an advanced farmer but potatoes ain’t peach trees either. If the summer hasn’t been too dry, something will come up.

Leonard carefully examines his rough hands. He dreamed of becoming a surgeon and never thought that one day his hands would look like this, cracked and calloused. 

He curses under his breath. He’s such a moron. Just look at him – a cute guy got a bit touchy with him and he is already dreaming of a quiet little life growing vegetables on a fucking farm.

Leonard cracks his neck and stretches his arms out to the sides, feeling how hot blood rushes to the numb muscles, warming them immediately. Blood is amazing in so many ways, he’d always been fascinated with it. It supplies oxygen and nutrients, it removes carbon dioxide, it regulates body temperature, it helps to resist infections and parasites. Blood supports life in almost all animals.

His own blood, quite curiously, can, with the help of adrenaline, mend a dead heart. More precisely, the heart of an infected person. Because, and this is a fact that almost no one is aware of, they are not dead at all. They’re just asleep, so to speak. But Leonard prefers to be very discreet with that knowledge. He has his reasons.

But the thing is – Leonard can wake them up. He’s done it before. Adrenaline is needed to accelerate the reaction and to speed up the heartbeat, because, and this is truly fascinating, their rotten hearts are still beating. Oh, who would have thought.

Great, now he wants to jump into the car and go hunting, because he needs to, truly. He looks towards the bushes where they parked the Caddy. The keys are in the back pocket of his jeans. He needs to run now, he could, leave everything – Jim, the whiskey, his perfect samples, and move to Ohio. Because he is a coward. And besides, he’s better off alone. It’s the best for everyone. He can’t drag another human along, so fragile and vulnerable, while he chases across the country searching for a suitable Infected with the military on his tail. 

Back then, in the North, he already drove the entire research team to their fictitious, early grave. Fictitious because nobody buries bodies anymore. But they died for real, and they died because of him, every single one of them. Leonard will never forgive himself, and he’s not going to make the same mistake again. He’s learned his lesson.

However, leaving a person in their sleep without any explanation is decidedly the most cruel thing one can commit in _ this _ world. And, although the thought had already crossed his mind more than once (and it might happen again, because frankly Jim is a terrible pain in the ass) he would never do that. He wouldn’t be any better than Jim’s asshole friends.

So Leonard can mend a Dead’s heart, for thirty seconds at most, but still – oh, it’s so cool, it’s so exciting, it’s beyond magic! And like a cheap circus trick, it’s absolutely useless. It can entertain a crowd of people in white coats and latex gloves but nothing more. He can cure the disease but the Dead will die anyway, their bodies too badly damaged to last more than the blink of an eye without the virus that made them ill. Like some strange joke of the Creator, or the Creators, or the Universe that created and is now rapidly devouring itself. 

The recipe is as follows: his blood and adrenaline. Even better – his blood mixed with his own adrenaline. It’s so simple. It’s so laughably easy to derive this mixture. Underground laboratories with expensive equipment and a crowd of bored assistants aren’t even needed. He can just run and jump from a pier into an ice lake. Or he could just walk into a shopping center swarmed with the Infected. 

Or… Or he can take a look at Jim. As he’s dancing by the stove in his ridden-up tee shirt, dazed by boredom and whiskey, just happy to be alive. He’s making the best coffee in the world, in the kitchen of an abandoned farm, somewhere in the abandoned state of Georgia, on abandoned planet Earth. As the light of the sun pierces through the dusty air, bursting into the room through thousands of miles, a dirty window and a hole in the wall.

Or he could just think of Jim’s hand as it’s making its way along Leonard’s side, down his stomach, past his navel and even further down. 

Yeah, adrenaline is an amusing hormone, it works like a drug, it’s addictive. Maybe that’s why he’s back to thinking about Jim. He could take a sample right now.

But he’s not yet recovered from the last time. He needs to slow down, with the samples, and in general. On his diet of whiskey and peaches he’s just not-so slowly killing himself.  
An adult man of his physique has a blood volume of about five liters. He’s all but certain that back then, in the white room, they took half of it. He’s never had a chance to fully recover after that when he started his own research. Of course, he’s trying to treat himself with greater care and respect, but sometimes he gets carried away, too. He’s a workaholic. If he had a chance to finish his degree he’d become one of those maniacs who never see the light of day, live off coffee and truly believe the planet will stop spinning if they take a day off. 

Most of the time now, he can’t stop wondering if he’s only still trying because of his workaholism. Of all the survivors, one half went nuts, the other completely wild. Is it worth continuing for them? For that Andy guy, with his awful teeth, or that nice granny and her imbecile grandsons Tom and Jerry. Yes, anyone would have snapped his neck, given the opportunity, for the sake of such insignificant benefits as a pair of damned peaches.

But then there's Jim. He is so strange, and when they first met, Leonard thought he’s just one of the whackos, because he stuck like a leech, and would talk too much and all kinds of nonsense. But after all it turned out that it was just despair and fatigue and leftover adrenaline from having had a very close call with death. Jim is really different, he is something else. Leonard has never met anyone like him. His friends are real idiots, simply leaving him for some stupid reason. Maybe they’re all just too young; quick-tempered and self-centered. 

Sometimes Jim falls into some weird state of brain freeze, he can sit there for hours and just look at the wall. Then he offers to try and hijack a warship and go across the ocean to see how they are coping with the end of the world on the other side. He is a fighter, he has a quick mind, and his survival instinct is on a whole new level. But most importantly – he cares. Leonard is already struggling to find the strength to worry about anybody or anything other than himself, he seems to have already completely burnt out. But Jim – he’s just a different breed, one that doesn’t burn out. He’s as bright as the sun. If it wasn’t for this damn apocalypse he could have become a world class pilot or an astronaut. He seems to be one of those who will go far, and even farther, and reach the impossible. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere to go anymore. 

Leonard turns around to a quiet noise behind him and sees a disheveled Jim standing in the doorway. His wrinkled shirt is the only bright spot on the gray background of this morning. He stands there leaning against the doorpost and looks off into the distance, somewhere above Leonard’s head, who at this moment is horrified to realize that his pulse has quickened. No, no, no, that’s not what’s gonna happen here, he thinks. “Good morning, Jim,” he says. 

In response Jim yawns so widely it seriously looks like he’s at risk of dislocating his jaw. He walks out onto the porch and stretches his arms over his head; the hem of his shirt rides up, exposing the pale skin of his abdomen.

“Morning,” Jim draws out the word, suppressing another yawn. “Coffee?” he suggests.

“Yeah.”

“Cool, I’ll make us some real quick. Why the sour face?”

Leonard shrugs. “Hangover.” It’s not a lie, his head feels like an anvil dropped on it but he’s gotten used to the sensation lately. It became part of the routine. They have known each other for two weeks and three days. They spent a good half of it in a state of intoxication. And they already got to second base. For fuck’s sake, it took Leonard half a year spent in doubt and torment to speak to that girl from college and a couple more weeks to actually kiss her. Then another month to understand that he didn’t enjoy kissing her that much. He didn’t have time to tell her about it, she left him for a way more ardent economics major. 

Their now dramatically shortened life expectancy overturns the idea of time and greatly adjusts the perception of certain moral aspects.

“Poor thing,” Jim replies, but there’s not even a hint of sympathy in his voice. He silently stares at nothing for another minute, then abruptly turns around and disappears into the darkness of the doorway.

“Damn it,” Leonard mutters, rubbing the back of his neck absently. “Oh fuck.”

\---

When Leonard steps back into the house, the kitchen is filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting from a crumpled aluminum pot. He puts the peaches on the table and sits down on a rickety stool. Jim immediately puts a mug in front of him and Leonard grunts gratefully in response. Jim himself leans against the kitchen counter and carefully looks at him, holding his own mug with both hands. After a minute the silence becomes unbearable.

“What?” Leonard snaps, rather harshly and he flinches a bit. Jim doesn’t seem to notice. 

“You have nightmares,” he says matter-of-factly. It sort of feels like he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind.

“And you don’t?” Leonard asks in reply. Then he immediately regrets it, the question sounded much more rude than intended. They live in a nightmare, what else is new. 

Jim just shrugs and silently takes a sip from his mug. Apparently today is one of the days where he is quiet. Usually, Leonard prefers these over the ones when Jim suddenly becomes excessively talkative. Silence means that Jim is kind of relaxed, at least halfway. Leonard may not be a master of interpersonal communication, but nevertheless he noticed that behind the tides of hyperactivity there’s hidden fear. As if the guy encourages himself.

No, Leonard doesn’t like his buddy’s quiet mood because in the silence he can hear the beating of his own heart that suddenly went furious. 

“Listen, yesterday–” Leonard begins, but Jim immediately dismisses him.

“Do you feel better?”

“Well, maybe…” Leonard glances away.

“Good.” Jim smiles disarmingly and it makes Leonard curse mentally. “I just thought it wouldn’t hurt you to relax a bit.”

“Oh wow, okay. Well, I–”

“You’re welcome,” Jim interrupts him again and now there’s a cocky grin on his chapped lips. Still, it doesn’t reach his eyes, so unnaturally blue, so freezing cold. “So, Bones, what’s the plan for today?”

Now Leonard feels discouraged. He’s already used to Jim’s never-ending flirting, it’s kind of like his communication style. But now it seems like Jim’s behavior changed after that incident on the roof and that just had to mean something, at least he would think so. And then there was Schrödinger’s blowjob that Andy supposedly had or hadn’t received and Leonard hates himself for being stuck on that. He himself is a naive idiot and it’s time for him to get down to his business again while Jim can go to hell, damn him and all his tricks, oh fuck it.

“I don’t really have much of a pla–”

But Jim suddenly presses a finger to his lips and shakes his head. There’s definitely something wrong with him today.

“Do you hear that?” he whispers after a while and Leonard shakes his head, bewildered. “I have a strange feeling...”

_ Yeah, me too. _ Leonard replies mentally. 

“... as if someone else is here,” Jim concludes, and Leonard looks at him in surprise. He shakes his head and opens his mouth to tell him that that’s impossible but Jim puts his finger to his mouth again.

So Leonard’s all ears, he listens carefully, every cell of his body on red alert, but all he can hear is silence, or rather the desperate chirping of cicadas that won’t ever shut up and the white noise in his head. That’s funny, maybe he’s finally gone mad, but Jim looks seriously concerned. 

“Let’s take a look around the house,” Leonard suggests quietly to ease the tension. 

No one would ever wander into this wilderness, not even before everything collapsed. While people are still looking for nice houses with all the advantages, this place is an actual hellhole. But Leonard was proud of his shelter. The house, even despite the associated inconveniences, was perfect – not even the starving Infected or insane cannibals would ever come looking here. It didn’t have a name and wasn’t plotted on maps. The place was equally distant from all surrounding settlements and the exit from the beaten secondary road was covered with tall grass and crooked bushes. It was barely visible. The house itself looked like it was about to collapse on one side, an overgrown garden covered it from the other side. A field stretched behind it and Leonard could swear the last time anyone took care of it was fifty or more years ago. And then there was a hill that in theory could offer a nice view to observe fiery red sunsets, but nobody gave a damn about watching sunsets anymore. Except for Jim maybe, but Jim isn’t your standard end time citizen. 

Of course, Leonard would still try to not make too much noise living here, because he’s no idiot. Well, not until today.

“Yeah, okay. Take your gun,” Jim whispers barely audibly and Leonard smiles silently in response.

\---

Jim goes to check the car, although Leonard told him a thousand times that they shouldn’t separate. That’s how people die. Did the guy never watch a goddamn horror movie in his life? He himself walks around the house, even though he’d already done that when he woke up. There is clearly something wrong with Jim today but Leonard also can’t be sure of that simply because he doesn’t know how Jim behaves when everything is okay with him. He’s only closely familiar with drunk Jim.

However, some part of his nervousness has spread to Leonard, plus this morning’s feeling returned to him, namely the _ something has changed _ feeling. 

When you look at the same landscape day after day, your vision becomes blurred and you stop noticing details, you see only the big picture. Apparently something is wrong with it today. Leonard freezes in place where he stood this morning and takes a closer look. Everything is in its place – the house and the hill, the trees, the barrels of water. A lonely cloud hanging in the sky above the hill. The deafening silence. And even the old rickety shed is still miraculously standing in its place, the damp grass is not flattened where it should not be flattened.

But then it clicks.

The damn peaches! The year has been an exceptionally fruitful one. Yesterday he picked up several fallen fruits from the ground, it was their breakfast. Today he had to reach for a branch because there were none left on the ground. There should have been some left. Jim was right. There’s someone else here with them. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Leonard takes the safety off and silently moves around to the front of the house holding the gun in front of him. He only finds Jim who sits there on the steps of the porch, propping his chin on his fists. Intense relief rushes through Leonard but then Jim’s piercing gaze meets him and it could punch through a wall.

“Listen,” he says unexpectedly loudly, his voice resonates in the damp air, “we seem to need to discuss something.”

“Yeah, you were right, there is someone else here,” Leonard begins hastily, but Jim shakes his head and interrupts him.

“What the fuck is this?” He asks and nods towards a crumpled sheet of paper that’s lying next to him. 

Leonard shifts his attention to it and doesn’t even need to take a closer look, he knows instantly what it is. His legs and arms suddenly weaken, he lowers his gun, and all over again he is swept away by the familiar warm wave of sickly sweet apathy. Of course. 

It’s a dirty poster with a shitty copy of his med school ID photo. It’s a really bad one. He looks like a convicted felon in it, as if it was taken specifically to once end up on this poster. Wanted – it’s written in blocky letters across the top. Andy didn’t lie, may his soul rest in peace. 

“Jim, this is not…” he starts and stumbles over his own words because goddamn he sounds ridiculous.

“... what you think.” An unfamiliar voice, low and calm, ends the phrase for him, and the wave comes back crashing down on Leonard. Oh, it’s never going to end. He slowly turns around to face the voice, not even bothering to lift his gun again. 

To his great surprise, the small group of people he’s now facing aren’t military. They’re three guys and a girl of about the same age as Jim, skinny and tattered, but, judging by the four guns aimed at him, their intentions are serious. 

“Who the hell are you?” Leonard asks, not even trying to give his voice a more menacing tone, or aim his gun in response. Clearly, it’s useless. 

“Dr. McCoy, for the common good and in order to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, I suggest you surrender and follow us.” The voice belongs to a tall guy with a strange expression on his face, or rather, a strange lack of expression. His hair is strikingly black and it’s shaped in what seemed to have once been a bowl cut. Who is seriously still wearing a bowl cut in this day and age? Unlike the others who stare at him viciously as if he had killed some of their relatives, the guy looks at Leonard with only a hint of curiosity. And Leonard realizes that this is the guy with The Rules.

“Yeah, sure, I only have to pack my things,” Leonard says dryly. “Jim, are these your friends?” He asks, although the answer is obvious.

Leonard didn’t pay all that much attention to Jim’s stories about his friends simply because most of them were told when he was drowning in a whiskey haze. He does know enough, though, to tell that these are Jim’s people. Jim most likely noticed their presence back then, on the porch, and said nothing. He made him a damn coffee instead. And he offered to split up when they went out to inspect the other side of the house so he could meet them. And Leonard, being the idiot he is, let his guard down and trusted Jim blindly.

“Dr. McCoy, we will not do you any harm.”

“Your weapons say otherwise,” Leonard returns. He hears a bitter laugh behind him and turns around. “Jim, what the hell?” he asks, referring to the whole situation.

“Maybe you can tell me?” Jim grins wryly. As they were talking he folded the poster into a paper airplane and now he’s aiming it right at Leonard’s face. “When Andy mentioned these posters you said you had no idea what he was talking about. You said the Shelter doesn’t exist.” With that, Jim sends the paper plane flying, and it actually does fly. Leonard is very proud to catch it before it hits him in the forehead. 

Leonard unfolds the paper and skims over it. Wanted for questioning it says. He huffs, yeah right. It also has his full name, the aforementioned bad photo, his age and where he was seen last. It even describes his overall appearance. The poster also promises food, water and a safe place at the Shelter for whoever was able to give them any information that would lead to his capture. 

Since the last time he saw their papers they actually adopted The Shelter as their official name and even designed a fitting logo. 

Leonard ponders it over for a minute. Behind him someone grumbles “Take your time, figure out your issues, there’s no need to hurry,” then someone else shushes. He rolls his eyes.

He could make up a lie real quick but then again he was never any good at it. He could tell them. About the blood. About the nightmares. About the fact that they already tried everything, all to no avail. He was going to do it sooner or later anyway.

“Okay…” Leonard exhales slowly, “I assumed they were looking for me. The Shelter does exist, but it’s not what you think. Now please tell your friends to put away their damn guns.”

Jim shrugs nervously. “Well that explains fuck all, Bones.” His voice carries an edge of desperation in it. 

“And we’re not friends,” another voice adds behind Leonard and the comment makes Jim flinch.

“Shut up Scotty, I stole all of Betty Smith’s textbooks from her locker for you, so you could _ find _ them and talk to her. If that’s not friendship then what is?”

“A break-in? Trivial offence?” Leonard offers a couple of options and Jim sighs.

“Okay, let’s skip it. Bones… ” Jim looks at him continuously, there’s a strange glimpse of despair in his gaze and it makes Leonard think that maybe he let him down in some way. Which is bullshit, of course, he didn’t ask him to follow along and, frankly speaking, without him Leonard wouldn’t have gotten into this mess. 

He would have, most likely, successfully gotten to the farm in his wonderful van and continued his useless research. He would have drunk senselessly, alone. He would have blamed himself for past mistakes as usual. Everything would have been just fine.

“It’s a long story, Jim, and I somehow don’t feel inspired to tell it right now, especially when they,” Leonard waves towards the group, “poke guns at me.”

“Well, you turn around and face us,” comments the voice which, apparently, belongs to Scotty.

“But then Jim won’t be able to hear me well,” Leonard notes reasonably, air of mocking in his voice. 

“Just come with us. We won’t hurt you. We’ll just take you to the Shelter,” a new voice, one Leonard hasn’t heard yet, pipes up. 

“I’m not going back there!” Leonard finally explodes. Of course he’d like to act more confident and composed but somehow it just doesn’t work out. “You can shoot me if you want but I’m not going voluntarily,” he adds more restrainedly. “And don’t look at me like that, Jim. I didn’t promise you anything, and to be fair—“

“You lied.”

“I didn’t lie, I just considered it necessary not to cover some topics.”

Jim snorts in response, shakes his head and then, to Leonard’s surprise, takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one. “They won’t do you any harm. We all want to go to the Shelter and you will help us with that. ”

“Jim, you don’t understand…”

“Care to enlighten me? Why are they looking for you?”

Leonard rubs the bridge of his nose helplessly. He would explain it to Jim but he’d rather do it in private. These guys clearly don’t understand even half of what is actually happening. All they saw were the stupid posters. If they knew they wouldn’t threaten him with guns. But even if he tried to explain the truth there’s no way they’d believe him. And if they expect him to prove it… there’s so many things that could go wrong.

“Because I ran away, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” Jim looks at him wearily and sighs. Suddenly he looks ten years older. “So we return you to the place and then we receive some sort of security and food as a reward. Better than nothing. Honestly, I don’t even care what you did.” 

Leonard would have lied if he said that Jim’s words didn’t hurt. “I swear I didn’t do anything, I just ran away because… I had my reasons, okay? Jim, please, I thought we’re friends.”

“We barely know each other. They are my friends.”

“We are not friends,” Scotty repeats stubbornly, but he is immediately interrupted by someone’s hissing.

“It’s kinda funny actually, you guys,” Leonard grins.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dr. McCoy has a cure for the virus or he knows how to make it, at least,” a female voice arises suddenly and everyone gasps in unison and whips around.

“What?!”

“Why didn’t you tell us before?!”

“It’s classified and I didn’t want you to hurt him.”

“What?! Uhura, what the hell?” It’s followed by a malicious hiss in response.

Jim hasn’t taken his eyes off Leonard, despite the much more interesting squabble behind him. Much more interesting than Leonard’s gloomy face at least.

Leonard stares back in return, mentally says goodbye to him, to the farm, everything that happened here, and everything else that could have happened but now won’t. Everything comes to an end eventually.

“Well,” Leonard turns back to the group, “first of all, I’m not a doctor.”

“That’s what they called you,” the girl says willfully and jerks up her sharp chin. Leonard studies her face closely, he’s seen her before. Somewhere. Maybe in a dream, maybe in a nightmare, maybe he’s heard her name. He shrugs.

“Listen, I can see that you aren’t the bad guys,” the statement causes a general chuckle, but he continues. “But, it’s clear that you’re misinformed. I don’t have a cure.” Leonard takes a deep breath. He draws full lungs of air and exhales very slowly, he’s about to say something that sounds absolutely insane even to his own mind. And then he has to run, run very fast, to the car. “I am the cure.” He pauses pointedly, letting it sink in. “That being said, I wouldn’t recommend killing me or doing anything that can cause major blood loss.”

Leonard looks around, pleased with the temporary shocked silence he caused. Scotty puts down the gun. “Yeah, so… I guess Uhura will explain the rest. I gotta go.” 

Leonard breaks off into a sprint and rushes to the car. A bullet whistles past his ear, hits the gravel and ricochets in direction of the house. 

It was a nice house. He’ll never come back.

“Don’t shoot him! Didn’t you listen?! We can’t hurt him!” Uhura’s voice halls after him. 

A smile flickers over Leonard’s face as he hears her voice. He’s got a chance. He’ll jump into the car and drive straight to Ohio, he knows the way and the tank is almost full. He mentally thanks himself for keeping the car doors unlocked. He doesn’t have that many rules, only two actually: grow your own food and keep the transport ready. Gravel crunches under his feet and his traitorous heart hammers in his chest.  
Then, suddenly, only a few yards from the car, something stings familiarly in his neck. He drops his gun and his hand flies up to his neck as his knees weaken rapidly, he stumbles, stops and slowly turns around.

Before the darkness swallows him completely he sees Jim with the tranq gun in hand. The tranq gun they left in the Caddy. Jim looks at him, tilting his head to one side like in Leonard’s recurring nightmare and his shirt is the only bright spot on the gray background of this morning. 

———————————————

End of part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this concludes Part One of the Trip Switch series. We know, we know – what the fuck, right? But fret not because Part Two is already well in the making and you can expect a little something for in-between as well.  
A big Thank You to everyone who’s enjoyed the story so far and commented and gave kudos! You’re the true MVPs!  
Stay tuned, and we hope to see you in Part Two!


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